


Step Two

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Series: Higher Powers [1]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: 12 Step Programs, BDSM, Bad 12 Step Behavior, Bad BDSM Behavior, Drama, M/M, Mike has temporary Dom other than Harvey, Romance, Sexual situations with original character (Mike)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 150,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike meets Harvey at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.  He proposes becoming Mike's sponsor, but with an unusual twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a multi-chapter story. I'm aiming to post weekly, but that may not always happen.

The Narcotics Anonymous meetings Mike attended on Tuesdays and Thursdays met in a church basement that smelled of mold and dusty hymnals. The meetings often boasted no more than a dozen or so participants, who sat in a messy circle of metal folding chairs, drinking weak coffee and staring everywhere but at each other.

After the dull obligatory readings, they waited each other out. Silence stretched, growing uncomfortable and almost unbearable, and was broken every so often by a halting, rambling recitation of some stranger’s struggles and victories.

The struggles rarely resonated with Mike, sounding outlandish and drenched with drama. The victories, he guessed, despising his own cynicism, were only temporary.

Mike never spoke. He let the words wash over him, hoping that for this day, this week, placing his butt in that seat would be enough to keep the persistent itch of want under control for a little while longer.

He might not have attended at all, except the court had insisted upon it. Without that prod, he might have lasted for a week, maybe two, before running in search of something chemical to dull the needles of doubt that teased his gut, something to muffle the insidious narrative that played in a loop inside his head of _lonely-empty-pain._

He struggled against the seductive lure of an easy slide back into the familiar black place. Some days, it seemed close to impossible to resist. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure why he bothered with…anything. What was he busting his ass for, delivering packages and documents for strangers he didn’t give two shits about? Trevor had skipped town to avoid prosecution. Grammy was gone. He had just turned twenty-five, and he couldn’t see past the gray sameness of his days to any sort of appealing future.

But an hour twice a week in a shadowy church basement seemed preferable to three to five years in prison, so he kept showing up, kept getting his attendance sheet signed, and kept hoping that the serenity prayer and the affirmations and clever alliterative sayings would serve to keep him afloat for another week.

He knew the twelve steps by heart, of course, but hadn’t made it past the first one – admitting he was powerless over drugs and that his life had become unmanageable. Oh, he’d admitted it easily enough. Powerless? Absolutely. Unmanageable? That had become irrefutable when he’d been taken into custody at the Chilton with a briefcase full of pot.

He’d been stuck at step two for months. He mumbled it to himself now, Saturday night, as he scanned the app on his phone for a meeting nearby that met this late. “Came to believe that a Power greater than myself could restore me to sanity.”

He’d been assured that he didn’t need to believe in God to work the steps, but the whole higher power thing had him stumped. Okay, the arrest and court ordered meetings had restored a portion of his sanity. The “system” was a power greater than him, but hardly seemed like the thing to shape his life around, or to look to for guidance. Besides, despite the system's best efforts, he feared that a great deal of insanity remained.

Take tonight, for instance. He’d dressed in black stovepipe jeans and body-hugging t-shirt and ventured out for the first time in…he couldn’t even remember how long it had been. He’d only wanted to have some fun, rediscover freedom in wild dancing, perhaps hook up for some meaningless sex.

He splurged on a cab ride to Manhattan, heading for a club he’d heard of that didn’t seem too trendy or exclusive, and was far enough removed from his former haunts to ensure that he kept clear of his old druggie friends and acquaintances.

It seemed a good choice, to begin with. The DJ had great taste in music. Mike behaved himself and ordered a Sprite. Alcohol had never been the main problem, but he was expected to avoid that along with everything else. He told himself he didn’t miss the chemical rush he used to associate with nights like this, and allowed the music and the insistent rhythms to lure him to the crowded dance floor where he slithered and gyrated, peeled his shirt off and let his sweat flow and his skin glisten underneath colorfully strobing lights.

It was the trip to the restroom that nearly did him in. Familiarly sweet, pungent smoke filled the small space. He hesitated long enough to give the two men who were sharing lines of coke the opportunity to smile and offer to share with him.

Mike froze, seeming to teeter as if on some sort of precipice. On one side lay forgetting and temporary release, and on the other side lay a plain white calendar with seventy-three stark black X’s marking off the days of his sobriety.

Could he make it to seventy-four? Or would he have to reset, go back to the beginning and start again, with prison as an extra, added complication? He teetered and wondered and finally remembered the app he’d downloaded to his phone the day the court had decided to allow him another chance.

Shaking his head, he backed out of the restroom, retreating from temptation. He held his phone in one hand and his shirt in the other as he exited the club and inhaled deep lungfuls of chilly autumn air, striving to purge the sweet, enticing scent of pot smoke from his senses.

Ignoring the catcalls of men who loitered outside to smoke cigarettes and gossip, Mike tapped determinedly at his phone's screen, searching by zip code and type of meeting – NA – and found nothing until the next morning. Someone touched his bare shoulder and ran a hand down his damp back, a blatant invitation he hated to refuse. He thought about the piss test he was required to take on Monday morning, and moved away, shaking his head some more, smiling to soften the rejection.

He began to shiver, so he pulled his shirt back on and widened his search parameters to include any type of meeting. This time, he was in luck. An AA meeting was starting in ten minutes, just six blocks away. He started walking, taking long, strong strides, resisting the urge to break into a panicked run, as if an imaginary hoard of tiny devils flew behind him, jabbing at him with their cartoon pitchforks, and offering whatever he needed to accomplish the impossible task of spackling over the grievous cracks and holes in his life.

 

******

 

The meeting was already in progress when Mike pushed through the door into the Dayton Towers community center. Surprise halted him for a few seconds on the threshold. He hadn't expected an 11:00 pm meeting to be so well attended. Half a dozen or more rows of chairs filled the room, and nearly all of the chairs were occupied. And, he now realized, nearly all of the occupants of those chairs had turned to stare in his direction.

Flustered, he ducked his head and grabbed the first empty chair he spotted, which was in the front row. The middle-aged man leading the meeting handed him a clipboard with a sign-in sheet, and he scribbled his first name, circled no, that he had no sponsor, and hesitated over the yes/no query as to whether or not he would like a sponsor. Finally, he scrawled a messy question mark, didn't provide a phone number and handed the clipboard back to the leader.

"For any latecomers," said the leader, causing Mike to duck his head again, "my name is Tim. Before we open the meeting up, it's a huge pleasure to be able to give out a three year coin to someone we haven't seen nearly enough of lately. Harvey, come on up."

A man a couple of chairs down from Mike in the front row stood and walked the few steps to accept his coin. Tim hugged him and patted him on the back, while the rest of the crowd applauded, some politely, a few with real enthusiasm. Then Harvey stepped to the podium and began to speak. As Mike listened to his words, he also drank in his appearance. Like everyone else there, he was dressed casually, but on him even faded Levis, black t-shirt and brown leather jacket looked tailor made and expensive.

He was perhaps a dozen years older than Mike, solidly built with lean muscles, and movie star handsome. As he spoke, he exuded calm, authority, and arrogance, all tempered with an attractive self-deprecating humor. Mike found himself sitting up a little straighter as he listened to what Harvey was saying.

"I see a lot of familiar faces here," said Harvey. "I haven't been able to make the meeting as often as I probably should lately. I can only hope that those of you I pissed off and offended when I first showed up here have forgiven me by now."

A ripple of knowing laughter ran through the crowd.

"Ah, I suppose I should do this in the correct way. I'm Harvey, and I'm an alcoholic."

 _Hi, Harvey_ , came the response from the crowd.

"My last drink was three years ago. My first drink was at age fifteen, just after I caught my mom cheating on my dad the first time. I thought then that I'd discovered the reason my dad drank so much, why he always seemed pissed off at the world, and at me, but all these years later I'm not sure which came first, the drinking or the cheating -- a sort of chicken and egg thing, I guess.

“As a teenager, I pretty much drank for all the typical reasons. To be cool. For the thrill of being bad. For the way it blurred all of the confusing, jagged corners of life. College -- again, pretty typical. I worked hard, and I lived for the weekends and the parties. As I became successful in my profession, the quality of my booze went up along with my income. It seemed part and parcel of the image, a reward that went along with the expensive suits, fast cars, hot hookups."

He'd been looking around the room as he spoke, and at this last comment, his gaze fell on Mike. It stayed for no more than a second, but it was enough to send a little jolt of interest up Mike's spine.

"As some of you here are aware, I can be an arrogant bastard at times."

More soft laughter.

"Which," he continued, "is one reason why it was difficult to recognize when my drinking first got out of control, for the people close to me, and certainly for myself. I think that’s one of the really insidious things about this disease. I actually believed that alcohol made me more… _me._ ”

Several people were nodding, as if they understand exactly what he was talking about. Mike tried to apply the words to himself, but could only conclude that he used because the drugs made him feel _less_ like himself. He missed the next few things Harvey said before he tuned back into his words.

“I've completed all the steps, made my amends, but there are some actions, and some words I said, for which I may never forgive myself. It all came to a head when, during less than a twenty-four hour period, I fucked up a case that should have been a slam dunk, I not only fired my assistant but was outrageously cruel to her, I pissed in a co-worker’s office, I showed up at my ex-boss’s house, threatened to burn it down, and smashed two of his garden gnomes, and finally, I started a bar fight with three guys who let me off easy by only cracking two ribs, knocking me cold, and letting the cops haul me to jail.

“Or,” he said giving Mike another lingering look, “what some of us used to call just another Friday night.” He waited for the ripple of laughter to end. “I still wasn’t ready to admit I had a problem. Who, me? Everyone else had the problem. The world had the problem. How was I to blame for reacting badly when the world didn’t show my awesomeness the admiration and reverence it so richly deserved?

“A very wise lady, who I happen to work for, gave me a choice. I could clean up my act, give up booze and attend weekly meetings, or I could pack up my desk and leave. If there’s one thing I love, even more than myself – ” He paused and gave the room a shit-eating grin that had Mike smiling reluctantly back at him. “That thing is my job. So I agreed to her terms. And there was no bolt of lightning, no sudden illumination, there was just me, and the group, and this room and – not to be too much of a cliché – there was one day, and the next day, and the next, and working the program, making the choice every day, and every moment of every day, not to fuck up again and throw away the things that are important to me.”

He paused and gave an elaborate shrug. “Here I am, three years later. I owe a lot to you guys, who show up every week and share your stories. And I owe an immeasurably huge debt to my sponsor, Jake, who wasn’t able to make it tonight, but he knows what he did for me.” He held up the coin. “Thanks, guys.”

 _Thank you, Harvey,_ the group responded, applauding as he made his way back to his seat.

“Thanks for sharing that, Harvey,” said Tim, returning to the front of the crowd. “Now let’s hear from some other people.” He picked up the clipboard, and called out a name, seemingly at random.

One speaker followed the next, a few droning on at length about their week, some sharing only a few words, two declining to speak at all. Mike zoned out after a while. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and angled his head slightly so that he could observe Harvey, drinking in his self-assurance and good looks. So focused was he on the other man, that he didn’t realize at first that his name had been called. Then Harvey glanced his way, caught him staring, and raised one eyebrow.

“Mike?” said Tim, from the front of the room. “Is there anything you’d like to share tonight?”

“Uh.” He straightened up and shot another quick glance at Harvey, who now favored him with an encouraging smile. Mike opened his mouth to say that, no, he had nothing to share, but his legs apparently had a mind of their own, lifting him to his feet, taking him two steps forward, and then turning him back around to face the group.

"Hi.” He cleared his throat around the sudden dryness. “Hello. My name's Mike and I'm an addict."

_Hi, Mike._

He'd never been comfortable speaking in front of crowds, and right now he could feel his heart beating too fast, his palms dampening, and his face growing warm with embarrassment. He cleared his throat again and addressed his next remarks to the floor.

"Uh, I mean, although for the sake of accuracy, I'm not sure if I should call myself an addict. I'm pretty sure you can't be physically dependent on weed. Psychologically, though? Sure. Maybe a better way to put it is, I'm Mike andI struggle with a non-physical dependence on pot, as well as a proven weakness for coke and ecstasy and oxy. And I'm pretty much down with alcohol, too -- beer, whiskey, vodka, tequila, etcetera. I suppose you could call me an equal opportunity substance abuser. But it takes too long to say all that, so let's just go with addict."

He finally got the nerve to glance up again, and was met with a sea of blank faces. He was half a second away from sitting down again -- or maybe fleeing the room entirely -- when he caught the look on Harvey's face. He actually appeared interested in what Mike was saying. More than that, his eyes shone with compassion. It wasn't the cloying, suffocating sort of compassion that looked down on you and made you feel lower than you already did. Harvey's dark brown eyes gave Mike a feeling of warmth and acceptance that he hadn't felt for a long time.

So he kept going, now speaking directly to Harvey.

"I was at this club earlier tonight. Like, thirty minutes ago, actually. I hadn't been anywhere for so long, hadn't allowed myself any indulgence, because, I don't know, I guess maybe I thought I didn't deserve it? Anyway, I was dancing, having a pretty good time, thinking about getting laid, picking out the guy. I went to take a leak, and -- _bam_ \-- there it is. Someone smoking up in one of the stalls, the whole room just _steeped_ in that smell. And right on top of that, coke is being fucking handed to me, just straight up, here you are, go in peace and a blessing on your house. So...."

He trailed off, feeling lightheaded all of the sudden, and he couldn't have said whether it was the almost hypnotic effect Harvey's gaze was having on him, his fight-or-flight finally kicking in, or a contact high triggered by his vivid memory of the fragrant restroom at the club. He gave his head an annoyed shake, shifted his gaze back to the floor, and chewed on an already ragged fingernail.

"I wanted... _something_. Something to fix me. Wanted it so fucking bad." He had to stop here and take in huge gulps of air, fearful that he might completely humiliate himself by dissolving into helpless tears. He fought himself for several seconds before wrestling control back from his stupid emotions. "Anyway. I found this meeting. And...yeah. Um. Thanks?"

A noticeable pause, and then, _Thank you, Mike,_ came a straggle of voices.

He knew his face was bright red. He took a step toward his seat, and then veered at the last moment to the coffee urn near the door, picking up a paper cup. As the next victim stood and began to speak, he replaced the cup on the table and slipped out the door, taking care to make sure it closed without making any noise.

The temperature had dropped while he'd been inside, and he missed his jacket as he started his trek to the subway. He'd left his jacket at home, since he hated having to keep track of it in a club. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd harbored a plan to hook up, and maybe spend the night cozied up in a warm apartment in Manhattan before shame-walking his way home in the morning.

He was shivering, hands jammed in his front pockets, doing his best not to think about his fucked up Saturday night, when he heard someone call his name. He spun around to discover that Harvey had followed him out of the meeting.

"Slow down kid." Harvey jog-walked to catch up with him. "You left in a hurry."

Mike eyed the other man suspiciously. "And that's your business because....?"

Harvey held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I just wanted to see if you'd like to go grab some coffee with me."

Mike made a scoffing noise. "So you can work your twelve-step bullshit on me?"

A careless shrug from the other man. "You showed up at that meeting for a reason. You're right. It may be none of my business, but it seemed like you had some things on your mind. I'm offering you a sounding board if you want to talk about it some more. That's all."

Harvey remained quiet after that, simply observing Mike and allowing him to make up his mind. It was true that he'd been close to panicking when he'd left the club. He had bought himself some time, but the urge to smoke up still bubbled inside of him. If this guy wanted to be his sponsor or whatever, maybe he could give it a try. If it didn't pan out, he wouldn't be any worse off than he'd been before.

"Yeah, I guess we could talk," Mike said. He shivered with cold, rubbing his arms briskly. "Fair warning, though. If you start quizzing me about my relationship with any deity and/or lord and saviors, that right there is a total non-starter."

Harvey chuckled. "Got it. Now come on, before you freeze to death. There's a diner one block over that has decent coffee and truly spectacular omelets."

 

Harvey talked Mike into ordering a spinach omelet along with his coffee, and then insisted on paying for everything. As the waitress set the plate in front of him, he realized how hungry his was, and tucked into his food with gusto. Despite recommending the omelets, Harvey ordered only toast and coffee for himself. Mike was aware of the other man studying him as he ate, and had to tamp down his urge to go all ravening jackal on his food.

When Mike finally pushed his plate away, and the waitress had warmed up both their coffees, Harvey said, "So, what got you to your first meeting? If you don't mind me asking."

Mike shrugged carelessly. "I don't mind. And it was Judge Carrollton that got me to my first meeting. She wanted to offer me twenty-eight days in rehab, but the funding wasn't there."

"You were arrested, I take it."

He nodded. "My first offense."

"What did you do?"

"A favor for a friend -- who is no longer a friend." At Harvey's raised eyebrow, Mike laughed without humor. "I was supposed to deliver a briefcase stuffed full of pot to a room at the Chilton Hotel. It was a setup, which I figured out, but when I tried to walk away, the damn briefcase popped open and spilled all over the cops' feet. It was pretty epic."

Harvey's mouth was smiling, but his eyes seemed to look right into Mike, seeing all of the things he was trying to conceal. All he said was, "How long?"

"Three years. Three years of perfect attendance at the meetings, three years of immaculate piss tests. Three years of no drugs, no alcohol." Mike slouched down in his seat and began shredding his napkin. "I can't see how I'll ever make it that long." The burden of all those months stretching in front of him suddenly weighed on him like a physical thing, and just like that, he felt dangerously close to tears once more. He shook his head, annoyed at himself, and still all too aware of Harvey's scrutiny.

"Are the meetings helping at all?" Harvey asked.

"What's helping -- what stopped me tonight -- is nothing more and nothing less than fear of prison. And no offense, because it obviously did the trick for you, but the whole twelve-step thing is of no use to me."

An interested head-tilt from Harvey. "Have you even given it a try? An honest try?"

Mike rubbed a hand over his face. "Like I told you earlier: it's a non-starter. All this talk about higher powers and God and...."

"And you don't believe in that?"

Mike gave a frustrated shrug. "Who knows? I don't know. How can anyone be sure? But even if there is a God, I'd have to say with all sincerity, fuck Him -- or Her. Why should I put my faith or fate in the hands of the ruthless dick who killed my parents? And let my grandmother die in that rat-infested shit-hole of a nursing home because her fucking loser of a grandson couldn't scrape together the cash to move her somewhere nicer?"

To Harvey's credit, he refrained from pointing out the obvious -- that perhaps it was Mike's own fault that he was such a colossal loser. Instead, he said mildly, "I'm not here to argue theology with you. As far as I can tell, the term 'higher power' is intended to give you some latitude in what or who you choose to turn to for strength." He spoke almost absently, as if most of his thoughts were busy with a different topic. Finally, he leaned in and touched the back of Mike's hand with one finger.

"Look," said Harvey, "I'm going to let you in on a secret. Back at the meeting, I spoke of the steps because that's what they want to hear. And I suppose you could say I worked the steps, some more...traditionally than others. But in the end, I found my strength in a completely unexpected source."

Mike waited, and when Harvey didn't elaborate, he finally asked, "And? Are you going to tell me how you did it? Because I could really use some advice here. I'm...." _I'm drowning, and there's nobody to throw me a line._ He bit back the desperate words that wanted to come tumbling out. Had he really almost blurted all of that out to this stranger?

Harvey seemed to understand. "I can see that you're struggling," he said. "That's why I want to suggest something to you, but I have to warn you, you're going to need to keep an open mind."

Mike gave a short laugh. "That right there has got me worried."

After fiddling with the handle of his coffee mug for a few seconds, Harvey met Mike's eyes again. "The hardest thing for a guy like me is showing weakness.” His mouth quirked up on one side. “Maybe because I have so few of them."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Except for a deep hatred of garden gnomes, apparently."

"My point, Mike, is that in order to begin my recovery, I needed to learn how to...submit to something or somebody outside of myself."

"And?" Mike prompted, beginning to grow impatient.

"And I got lucky. I met a man who suggested that if I would agree to transfer my power to him, on a temporary basis, I might find the peace I was searching for. At first I thought he was crazy, but eventually I grew tired of white-knuckling it 24/7 and finally, out of desperation, I tried it."

"It?”

“I signed a contract, handing control of every aspect of my life over to Jake, with the exception of my professional life, of course. In exchange, whenever I began to feel out of control, or like I wanted to drink, he would drop everything and…take care of me.”

Mike narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what Harvey was actually saying. “Unless I’m completely misunderstanding you, what you’re talking about sounds like some kind of BDSM arrangement.”

He half-expected Harvey to angrily deny it, but instead he smiled approvingly at Mike. “You’re a sharp kid. And it wasn’t simply ‘some kind,’ it was exactly, explicitly a Dom/sub arrangement.”

It was a struggle then to keep the shock from his face, but Mike thought he did a reasonably good job. “And you’re the sub in this scenario? That’s…surprising.”

Mike could scarcely believe he was having this conversation with a total stranger, but at the same time he was deeply fascinated by the subject matter. For a long time, he’d harbored secret fantasies about being tied up and spanked, or even whipped or beaten, but he’d never had the courage to act on those fantasies. He couldn't help smiling a little at the weirdness of this whole situation.

Harvey wasn’t smiling in return, instead appearing serious and solemn. “No, you’re right. My natural inclination is not to submit. But in this case, that’s precisely what I needed. The arrangement was only temporary, and Jake and I remain good friends. He’s also become something of a mentor.”

Mike let that sink in. “Your mentor. As in…. _Oh_. Okay. That makes more sense. You’re a Dom.” He blushed hotly as he realized what Harvey was proposing to him. “And…and you want…me? As your sub? So when I feel like I’m going to slip up, you spank the cravings out of me?”

Now Harvey did allow himself a grim sort of smile. “Like I said, you’re a sharp kid. But you’re getting a little ahead of yourself here. Spanking, or any other sort of discipline, would be the result of mutual negotiation and agreement.”

The waitress appeared with more coffee, and they were both silent as she refilled their mugs. When she’d moved away from their table, Harvey spoke again.

“If this is something you’d like to pursue, the first thing you need to do is educate yourself. I can suggest some suitable reading material. Once you know more, I’d want you to do some serious thinking about whether or not you could even accept giving over total control of your life to me. I’m not talking about occasionally meeting for coffee and talking things over, either. I would demand everything from you, Mike. You’d live with me for the length of the contract, serve me in whatever ways we agree to, obey all of my instructions without hesitation, make any and all changes in your life that I deem necessary, and be prepared for rigorous, physical discipline following your inevitable missteps.”

Logically, Mike believed that he should be both alarmed and repelled by these blunt pronouncements. Was this stranger really sitting there and suggesting that he place that level of trust in him? Mike should be up on his feet and running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

Running, however, was the last thing on his mind. The truth was, Harvey’s words were having the exact opposite effect on him, stoking a low, warm arousal deep in his core, and paradoxically causing him to also feel calmer, and less panicked about the urge to use.

Perhaps, he mused, someone had slipped something into his Sprite back at the club, and he was hallucinating this entire encounter. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and studied Harvey’s face. The man looked real enough, and appeared completely sincere in his offer.

“Have you,” Mike started, and then had to pause to take a drink of coffee because his mouth had gone dry. He tried again. “Is this something you’ve done before? Gone to a meeting and recruited a new sub?”

Harvey’s expression closed off a little at the suggestion. “No,” he stated simply. “I’ve never even considered it before. To be honest, this is as much of a surprise to me as I’m sure it is to you. My gut is telling me that you need this.”

“And you want to…what? Pay it forward?”

Harvey just shrugged at that.

Mike had no reason to believe him, or to trust him, but there was something so certain and steady and compelling about the man that he found himself gravitating toward him, like a wilting seedling turning to the sun. Harvey’s warm, dark gaze regarded him for a few seconds, and then moved away. Harvey turned sideways to stare out the window, as if he wanted to give Mike the opportunity to think things over without putting extra pressure on him.

Without a doubt, Mike was intrigued. He was also afraid, and confused and a little bit desperate. As he considered Harvey’s offer, he came to the conclusion that he could stand up, leave, go home, and continue to be afraid, confused and desperate, or he could say yes and either wind up in the same boat or -- Or what?

He didn’t know enough yet to understand how submitting to Harvey would solve any of his problems. On that point he remained skeptical. However, he’d felt an immediate attraction to the man, and did not find the idea of exploring some of his own hidden kinks with the man unpleasant. Which brought up another important question.

He studied Harvey’s profile for a few seconds before asking, voice hesitant, “You never said. Would this, uh, arrangement….Would it involve anything of a sexual nature?”

Harvey turned to meet his gaze again. “Possibly.”

Well, that was maddeningly vague. “Possibly? Care to elaborate?”

Harvey sighed, and seemed to make an effort to remain calm and dispassionate. “It partly depends on what we both agree to. If it’s a yes, then it falls to me to decide when and if you are allowed release.”

“So, if I’m a bad boy….”

“You’ll also be an extremely frustrated boy.” Harvey leaned in, speaking barely above a whisper. “But if you’re a good boy, a very good boy, the rewards would be…spectacular.”

Harvey’s words seemed to vibrate inside of him, and Mike was shocked to hear a whimper escape his throat. He leaned back in his seat and took a long drink of lukewarm coffee to cover his sudden discomfort. “Wouldn’t sex with you be twelve step non-compliant?” he asked weakly.

“Of course. And if you prefer to play by those rules, get up and walk away, no harm, no foul. But if you want to play by _my_ rules….” He let the rest of the sentence hang there between them, unspoken.

Feeling as if he was walking over the edge of a cliff, and hoping a bridge would magically appear to carry him across the chasm, Mike nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m in. Tell me what I need to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is not meant as either an endorsement or criticism of 12 step programs. I'm aware that there exist different schools of thought about them. I know people who believe their lives were saved by a 12 step program, and others who swear they were a waste of time. I will say that, as Mike comments in the story, it was very bad form for Harvey and Mike to become involved sexually if Harvey was to be his sponsor, but it was established from the very beginning on the show's pilot that these two are not interested in playing by the rules. So they're not.
> 
> Oh, and I know this shouldn't have to be said, but I'm feeling overly verbose and disclaimer-y, so I'll say it anyway: The BDSM scenes to be contained herein in coming chapters are fabricated from my imagination, and are not meant to be taken as any sort of authority on BDSM theory and practice. 
> 
> ANYway...don't you just hate long author's notes? Er, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this somewhat lengthy chapter in two parts, but decided to give it all to you at once, since it will likely be more than a week before the next installment.

“I thought it would be helpful,” Harvey informed Mike over the phone, “if you had the opportunity to see Jake in action, and also get a feel for some of what’s in store for you. After that, if we don’t completely scare you off, we can sign the contract and then get you moved in next week.”

That had been Thursday. Now it was Saturday night, a week after their first meeting, and Mike walked the fine, thin edge of a complete freak out.

Harvey drove to Brooklyn to pick him up, and when Mike opened the passenger side door, Harvey sighed, shook his head decisively, put the car in park and marched Mike back up to his apartment to search for something more appropriate for Mike to wear.

“What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?” Mike asked, genuinely confused. “It’s almost the exact same outfit you saw me in last week.”

“Lesson number one,” Harvey murmured, looking through Mike’s closet with barely concealed distaste, “don’t question your Dom’s judgment.”

“We haven’t even signed the contract yet,” Mike retorted, already feeling resentful.

“Consider this a trial run, and adjust your attitude. Where we’re headed tonight, poorly behaved subs are not well tolerated.”

Mike gave a meek nod, fearing his voice would betray his lingering resentment. He was no one’s sub, not yet anyway, and he could still back out if he wanted to. He turned away and pawed through his dresser, pulling out the only shirt he had that wasn't a t-shirt. It was a light blue polo shirt he’d been required to wear at a job he’d held briefly several years ago. It wasn’t even remotely his style, but since Harvey evidently didn’t care for his style, Mike held it up and waited for the verdict.

A soft sigh from Harvey. “Christ. Is that the best you can do? Fine. I guess it will serve for tonight. Tuck it in. And put on those sneakers. The ones that aren’t ripped all to hell. If you’re still on board with this after tonight, I’ll see about upgrading your wardrobe.”

Harvey was dressed in black slacks, grey button down shirt, and a black leather bomber-style jacket. He looked mouth-wateringly good. Next to him, Mike felt decidedly substandard.

He checked himself in the mirror. “I look like a band nerd. Or a mathlete,” he groused.

“You look neat and non-threatening. It will do for tonight, so no more complaints. Let’s get moving.”

As they returned to the car, Harvey gave Mike a few pointers.

“Unless I indicate otherwise, stay half a step behind me -- that's called walking at heel. Keep your eyes down. If anyone speaks to you, be unfailingly polite. If any trouble arises, and I don’t expect that it will, stifle any urges you might have to handle it on your own. If I’m not with you at the time, grab one of the monitors or bouncers. They’ll know what to do. You think you can remember all that?”

Mike fumbled with his seatbelt. “Yes…Sir? Is that a thing? Is that what I’m supposed to call you?”

In the dim interior of the car, Mike could see the gleam of approval in Harvey’s eyes, which made him feel…weird. Happy? Safe and warm inside? He couldn’t decide. Whatever it was, the feeling was definitely unfamiliar.

“Yes, Mike. You should address me as Sir. Might as well begin to get used to it. As we go on, you might grow to prefer other forms of address – _respectful_ forms, that is – but 'Sir' will do for now.”

As they drove in silence for a while, Mike tried it out in his head. _Sir. Yes, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir._ _Aye aye, Sir._ It felt strange and stilted, but he supposed he would get used to it in time -- if he actually went through with this, that is, which he was feeling less and less sure of.

He let out a gusty sigh, trying to release some of his nervous tension, and Harvey eyed him sidewise.

“There’s no pressure tonight, Mike,” the older man reassured him. “We’ll only be observing. I might introduce you to a few people. No one is going to try to trip you up. All you have to do is look pretty and behave yourself.”

Mike snorted out a low laugh at that. “You did not just call me pretty,” he muttered.

“That bothers you?” asked Harvey, sounding amused.

“No, it…boggles my mind. Sir.”

“Hm. Well, maybe when everything’s said and done, I can change your mind.”

“Good luck with that.”

“We’re almost there. I would like you to try something for me while we’re inside. I’ve noticed that when you’re nervous or uncomfortable, you tend to fall back on snide, sarcastic remarks. There’s no punishment for failure tonight, but I would like you to try to remain aware of what comes out of your mouth, and your tone of voice. All right? Because eventually that sort of thing will become cause for discipline.”

It was on the tip of Mike’s tongue to shoot back with a sarcastic, _sure thing, boss_ , but he stopped himself, somewhat amazed to realize how right Harvey was. “Yes, Sir,” he said instead. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good boy.”

And, _fuck_ , didn’t that just go straight to his gut?

Harvey parked the car, and Mike followed him the block and a half to a door with the name _Payne_ stenciled across it in simple block gold letters outlined in black. That struck him as funny for some reason. Was that supposed to be an archaic spelling of "pain?" Maybe they should have called themselves _Ye Olde S & M Clubbe. _Or would that be _Eff & M_? He stifled a laugh, and ignored the look Harvey gave him.

Inside, Harvey was greeted like an old friend by the young woman behind the front desk. He signed Mike in as a guest, and they went down a short hallway and into the lower level of the club.

Deep, rhythmic, bass-heavy music throbbed through air. A long wooden bar paralleled the back wall, a darkened stage was to the right, and tables and chairs were arranged throughout the rest of the room, many of them already occupied with both couples and solitary patrons. The lighting was dim and intimate, but bright enough that Mike could make out subs kneeling next to their Doms, or cradled in their laps.

Harvey headed straight to the bar, while Mike trailed behind, head swiveling this way and that, trying to spot any spankings or whippings, or blow jobs in progress, but so far it all appeared disappointingly tame. Harvey got them each a bottle of water, and asked the bartender for Jake’s whereabouts. The muscular man pointed to the stairs at the side of the room. Harvey wrapped a hand around Mike’s bicep and steered him in that direction.

As they climbed the stairs, Harvey leaned close and spoke directly into Mike’s air, causing him to shiver a little at the sensation of warm breath against the shell of his ear.

“The rooms up here are either private or semi-private. Jake will be in one of the semi-privates. He and Lucy enjoy putting on a show. We’re a little late, so they’ll already have started. You need to keep quiet. If you have any questions about anything you see, save them for later. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Harvey’s mouth turned up at the corners, not quite a smile, but Mike could see that addictive approval shining in his eyes. His hand slipped to the back of Mike’s neck, and he led him down another hall and into a room that was dark except for an overhead light illuminating a scene straight out of one of Mike’s masturbatory bondage and discipline daydreams. He stumbled to a stop, hauling in a great gulp of air.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, god. That’s….”

Remembering belatedly that he needed to stay quiet, he clamped his lips together and just stared.

A powerful looking man dressed only in leather pants, his bare chest, gleaming with perspiration, stood behind a nude woman tied to a St. Andrew’s cross. Her back and buttocks were already crisscrossed with neat pink stripes, and as the small audience watched, the man – who Mike assumed must be Jake – raised a single-tail whip and flicked it against her shoulder, causing her to groan and move in her bonds, almost as if she was trying to get closer to him.

After three more strikes of the whip, Jake paused and moved closer to speak to the woman, too low for anyone else to hear. She nodded, smiling dreamily, and he lifted a bottle of water to her lips, letting her drink half of it. Mike was expecting Jake to continue with the whip, and was surprised and a little disappointed when instead, he released her, wrapped her up in a blanket, and carried her from the room.

“That’s all?” Mike whispered to Harvey.

Harvey seemed amused by the question. “Wait until someone uses a single-tail on you, and then ask that question again.”

_Someone_? Someone meant Harvey, and the prospect of that intrigued Mike greatly. He thought of something, and asked Harvey, “That’s what Jake did to you? When you wanted a drink?”

Harvey took a sip of water, regarding Mike as he did so. “Jake gave me what I needed, when I needed it. That’s all you need to know.”

“Will I get to meet him tonight?”

“Yes. That's why we're here. He’ll be a little while, though. He has to take care of Lucy first, and then they’re both going to join us downstairs."

Before they left the upper level, Harvey led Mike past a few other semi-private rooms so that they could take in the scenes currently in progress. They witnessed an intense spanking, some kind of edge play that had the sub writhing and pleading for release, and something with nipple clamps, blindfold, and wicked looking needles being threaded underneath the sub's skin.

Forgetting all about walking at heel, Mike hurried past that last one, feeling a little light-headed and nauseous, and had to wait for Harvey to catch up with him.

"Sorry," he whispered to Harvey.

"It bothered you?"

"Oh, yes. And I don't think I could ever...." He was surprised to discover that he'd begun to tremble at the very thought of it.

"It's all right, Mike. We can list needle play as one of your hard limits."

He nodded, feeling absurdly grateful for Harvey's understanding.

After that, they returned downstairs and found seats. Harvey didn't ask Mike to kneel, and he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed about that.

 

A lengthy, showy whipping was in progress on the now spotlighted stage when Jake and Lucy finally joined them.

"Harvey. It's great to see you."

Mike had zoned out a little, gaze fixed on the ecstatic face of the sub being expertly marked with a bullwhip, and now he glanced up quickly, to find Jake taking a seat next to Harvey. Lucy, his sub, knelt next to Jake with her head resting on his knee. They made a striking couple: Jake was large, powerful, dark, and Lucy was a petite blonde.

"How are you doing?" Jake asked.

"I missed you at the meeting last Saturday," Harvey said.

"I know. Couldn't be helped. I was stuck in Toronto for almost two weeks on business. But you're good? Still staying strong?"

Harvey nodded. "I'm good."

"And this must be Mike," said Jake, surprising Mike as he looked past Harvey to where Mike sat. His searching gaze moved down Mike and then back up again. "I see what you were talking about."

This last was directed at Harvey, and Mike had to wonder if this was something else he would have to get used to, being spoken of as if he wasn't there. And what the hell did that even mean, that he could see what Harvey had been talking about? What had Harvey said about him? Mike wasn't sure if he should feel flattered or alarmed that he had apparently been a topic of discussion between the two men.

Just as Mike was working himself up into a nice froth of resentment, Jake leaned across Harvey and stuck out his hand.

"I'm Jake, if you hadn't already guessed."

"Nice to meet you," said Mike, as his hand disappeared inside of Jake's massive paw. "That was...I mean, I saw...." Unsure how or even _if_ he should speak of the earlier scene, Mike trailed off.

Jake seemed amused by his confusion. "It's okay, Mike. Ask me whatever's on your mind."

Mike glanced at Lucy, and saw her watching him as well, and he found himself even more reluctant to ask questions that suddenly seemed too personal and intimate. “Nice, um, scene,” he finally said. This seemed to amuse his three companions, and he blushed. Why had he agreed to this again? He took a deep breath, trying to relax, and addressed his next question directly to Lucy. “Does the whip hurt? Or do you actually enjoy it?”

She looked at Jake first, as if asking his permission to speak. He nodded at her. “Both. I’m not what you’d call a pain slut.” Jake petted her shoulder, encouraging her to continue. “I take it for my Master. That….”   A dreamy expression suffused her face. “It’s the best feeling, even though it hurts like hell.” She took a quick glance at Jake. “It’s hard to describe.”

Jake leaned down to place a kiss on the top of her head, and she laid her face against his knee and practically purred as he petted and stroked her. Mike averted his gaze, feeling once again like a voyeur spying upon their intimate interactions. When he looked at Harvey, he realized he’d been watching Mike closely. Mike gulped, imagining them in the roles of Jake and Lucy, with Mike worshiping at Harvey’s feet, and being treated to such tender aftercare.

He thought of the draft contract Harvey had e-mailed to him that week, just waiting to be finalized and signed, and suddenly knew that he’d made up his mind.

 

******

“This will be your room for the next six months.”

Mike followed Harvey into his guest room and dumped his duffel bag on the floor.   He still had serious, deep reservations about what he’d agreed to, but he had to admit that, as far as accommodations went, he liked what he was seeing. Harvey’s place was an enormous step up from his own shitty apartment in Brooklyn. Plus, he was more relieved than he would admit that he was being given his own room. He’d had visions of sleeping in a dog bed on the floor of Harvey’s bedroom, or chained to the wall, or something equally humiliating. That he’d gotten himself off like crazy to those visions was beside the point.

He flopped backwards onto the bed and nearly sighed out loud when he felt how comfortable it was.

“Get your things put away,” said Harvey, voice stern, “and then come back out to the living room. We need to talk about your schedule.”

Mike sat up a little, leaning on his elbows. “My schedule?”

“You heard me correctly. Now do as I’ve asked.”

Harvey left, and Mike frowned up at the ceiling. It had only been two weeks ago that he’d met Harvey, and one week ago that they had visited _Payne_ and he’d signed the contract spelling out the terms of their relationship.   He still hadn’t completely sorted out his complicated and confused thoughts and feelings on why and what he had agreed to.

Directly after signing his name to the contract, he’d felt a sense of relief flow through him. For the time being, someone else was responsible for his actions, and he wasn’t alone anymore. Paradoxically, at the same time he was filled with a low simmering panic. Even though he knew that, realistically, he could walk away from the agreement at any time, walking away sounded almost as frightening as following through with his promises.

Yes, definitely complicated.

With an internal fatalistic shrug, he pushed himself up off of the bed and began emptying his duffel bag. He hadn’t brought much with him, just a week’s worth of clothes, a couple of his favorite books, some DVD’s, and his toiletries. Amusingly, he was reminded of the time when he was nine and his parents sent him off for two weeks to summer camp. He was experiencing an almost identical feeling of disorientation and uncertainty. This time, he didn’t have to worry whether he would get on with the other kids, or be able to make friends. Instead, his focus would be on learning to please Harvey. To please his Dom.

With some surprise, he discovered that numerous items of clothing already hung in the closet. As he examined them, he realized that Harvey must have bought them for him. He found nice jeans and slacks, high quality t-shirts, soft sweaters in flattering colors, a pair of black leather pants which looked as if they would fit him like a glove, a stylish jacket made of soft, blue-grey leather, and an assortment of button down shirts. When he checked the dresser drawers, he found that Harvey had also supplied him with socks and at least a dozen fancy cotton and silk briefs, some in bright colors Mike never would have chosen for himself.

Curious, he returned to the closet and took a minute to try on one of the button down shirts, and found it fit him perfectly, hugging his torso. He took a look at himself in the full length mirror on the back of the door, and ran a hand through his shaggy, dark blond hair, frowning at his reflection. He was too skinny – scrawny, even. His own clothes were almost depressingly drab – faded Levi’s, t-shirt, ratty Chucks, but this….He couldn’t deny that this was a flattering look on him, and was impressed that Harvey had guessed his size with such accuracy.

Finally, he removed the shirt, hung it up, and pulled his old t-shirt back on. Remembering something, he chewed his lips as his hands hovered uncertainly near the top button of his jeans. The contract specified that, at least to begin with, he was not allowed any clothes while in Harvey’s condo. Did that mean immediately? Or after he and Harvey had their chat? Just now, Harvey hadn’t told him to get undressed, but….

In the end, he decided he wasn’t mentally prepared for that kind of vulnerability. If Harvey wasn’t happy about his choice, he would undoubtedly let Mike know. He shoved his empty duffel bag in the back of the closet, and went out to face Harvey.

The living room was empty, and Harvey was in the kitchen. Delicious smells reached Mike’s nose as he walked closer.

“I ordered us some dinner,” Harvey said. “Grab some plates. We can eat here at the breakfast bar.”

Mike silently complied. Dinner consisted of several Thai dishes, including fresh rolls, phad kee mao and crab fried rice. He piled food onto his plate, accepted the glass of ice water that Harvey handed him, and sat across from him on one of the tall metal stools.

They were both quiet for a few minutes while they satisfied the worst of their hunger. Then Harvey spoke.

“Your grace period ends with this meal, Mike, so let’s review your duties. From now on, you’ll be responsible for all of our meals while we’re at home. That means you can make use of the take-out menus in the drawer by the phone, but I’d also like to see you try your hand at preparing some meals from scratch. If it’s easier to accomplish that on the weekends, that’s fine. If you need money for groceries, let me know. I have a cleaning service that comes in twice a week, but you’ll be responsible for keeping the place neat and tidy in between visits. That includes washing up after meals. Does all of that make sense? About what you expected?”

Mike nodded. It was what he’d expected, and even though the idea of playing houseboy for Harvey chafed a little, the chores weren’t odious or overwhelming. He understood the concept of setting boundaries and routines. As an adult on his own, he’d resisted those things, and deep down he still resented their imposition. Still, he knew full well how messed up his life had become without them, which was part of the reason why he’d been willing to go through with this.

“Now,” continued Harvey, setting his chopsticks aside, “your schedule. You start work at, what, eight in the morning, Monday through Friday?”

“Eight-ish,” said Mike through a mouthful of rice.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. From now on, you will be at work by eight o’clock sharp. I want you up at five sharp. We’ll work out for an hour – ”

“Woah. What?”

“Don’t interrupt. There is a gym on the second floor of this building. Three times a week we’ll do a combination of cardio and weight training. That will alternate with three days of running.”

“And on the seventh day, we rest?”

“Mike.” Harvey’s voice was low and soft, but Mike could hear the steel beneath it. “I’ve asked you not to interrupt.”

“You also said I had a grace period.”

“I did. But that was not an invitation to blatantly disregard my orders. That is as many strikes as I’ll allow. For the rest of the evening, you are not allowed to speak unless I ask you a direct question. Every time you slip up, I’ll add five points to your daily total.”

Mike opened his mouth and then slammed it shut. He’d been going to ask what Harvey meant, but he had some idea. Harvey’s eyes grew a little warmer, as if acknowledging Mike’s honest effort to follow his directions.

“I was going to wait until you made your first mistake, but you’re a little ahead of the curve, so let’s address this now. As outlined in the contract, every morning when you wake up, before you get dressed, and before our work out, you’ll come to me for discipline. This will consist of ten swats with a paddle, plus any additional swats based upon your slip-ups made the previous day. I use the point system. Five points equals five swats. You’ll quickly learn the difference between a disciplinary spanking and one given out as a reward. Any questions?”

Mike was thankful for the opportunity to speak, because he’d been on the verge of violating the no speaking rule with this question. “You consider a spanking a _reward_? And just how does that work? Oh, and by the way, thanks for the vote of confidence. Why are you so convinced that I’m going to fail at this?”

Harvey chuckled, wiped his lips with a napkin and threw it down on the countertop. “I’ll take your questions in order. It’s all down to personal like and dislikes, but a lot of subs do enjoy a good spanking. I enjoy handing them out. You don’t have to believe me now, but just keep an open mind, all right? And I wouldn’t call the occasional misstep failure. If you were perfect, neither of us would be here. I actually believe that daily, scheduled discipline will help to settle you down. If it helps drive home the need to follow the rules, so much the better. Even if you follow every rule to perfection, you’ll receive your ten swats regardless.” He waited a couple of beats. “Anything else?”

Mike felt like he had nothing but questions at this point, but he took Harvey’s piece of advice to heart. He would do his best to keep his mind open, because he was beginning to realize that he couldn’t know everything immediately, and he would have to learn as they went on. He shook his head.

“Good. Continuing with the schedule, after our work out, you’ll shower, dress in your work clothes, and prepare coffee and breakfast for the both of us. We’ll eat together, and then you’ll leave for work. Check in with me a minimum of two times during your work day. Via text is fine, and nothing elaborate, just a short message to let me know how you’re doing. If any difficulties arise that you can’t handle, especially in regards to your sobriety, text me a 9-1-1 and I’ll call you back just as soon as I’m able.”

Resentment and gratitude warred inside of Mike at these rules and promises, and his throat closed up a little.

“I want you home by six o’clock,” Harvey continued. “Will that be a problem?”

Mike coughed and cleared his throat. “Not usually, but every so often a delivery assignment runs into unexpected complications.”

“How often?”

Mike threw up his hands. “It varies. On average? I’d guess maybe two or three times a month.”

“I see. If that happens, you’re to text me at once, and let me know where you are, and when you expect to be home.” He stood up. “Let’s move to the living room. You can take care of these dishes when we’re done talking.”

Mike hid a cynical smile. He wanted to ask, “We? Who is this ‘we’ you keep referring to?” He didn’t say it out loud, however.

When they were both seated, Harvey asked, “What days have you been attending meetings?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays at this church a couple of blocks from my apartment.”

“Too far away. Do the terms of your parole allow you to switch meetings?”

“Sure. I just have to notify them in writing.”

“Do that. We’ll attend the Saturday night meeting together. It’s a little late at night, but it’s the weekend, so I think we can make an exception to the schedule. I’ll find you an NA meeting nearby. You’ll attend that one on your own. All right?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Most nights, when you arrive home, you’ll undress, and either prepare or order dinner. My work schedule is unpredictable, so always assume that I’ll be home late and keep my dinner warm for me. You, however, will keep to your schedule, unless you have a meeting to attend, and eat your dinner at seven o’clock. I may be home to eat with you, or I may not, but I will do my best to be home no later than eight. Questions?”

“Am I supposed to accept food deliveries naked?”

Harvey smiled at that. “We’ll keep a robe for you by the front door. Anything else?”

“It sounds like I’ll have some free time when you’re not around. Am I allowed to spend it however I want?”

“No.” He reached over to the coffee table and picked up a small book that Mike hadn’t noticed before, along with an expensive looking pen. He tossed them to Mike, who opened the book, only to discover that the pages were completely blank. “Spend a minimum of half an hour writing in this journal.”

“What about?” Mike asked without thinking.

“Five points. I want you to record what you did that day, any challenges that arose, and how you dealt with them. If you have any questions or concerns about your submission, your sobriety or our relationship, write them down. Every night when I get home, I’ll read what you’ve written, and we’ll talk about it if I feel that is appropriate. With the remaining time available before your ten o’clock bed time – ”

“Ten o’clock?”

“Five more points, Mike. During that time, we’ll work on your training. This could entail a number of different things: submissive positions, bondage, toys, pain training, trust exercises. I’m not going to spell it all out now. You’ll learn what you need to know when I feel it to be necessary. Would you like to ask me anything else?”

There was something that had occurred to him. “Monday mornings before work, I’m required to report to my parole officer for a piss test.”

“Good. That will be your day off from working out. Anything else?”

“What if I…I mean, this is a lot to take in. What if it’s too much? Don’t I get a safe word or something?”

“You can use the generic red and yellow, or you may choose your own. What would you prefer?”

Mike’s mind went uncharacteristically blank. He had libraries of books and words stored in his memory, but he couldn’t bring a single, appropriate one to mind. And what was appropriate for a safe word, anyway?

“Mike?”

“Red and yellow are good for now, I guess.”

“That’s fine. It’s seven-thirty now. Tell me what you’ll be doing from now until ten o’clock.”

“Ah. Okay. First I get naked.” Mike pointed at the kitchen. “Dishes next.” He waved the journal between them. “Half an hour spilling my guts in here. And then…I don’t know. Whatever you decide.”

“Yes to all of that. However, you will use a more respectful tone when addressing your Dom, understood?”

Mike lowered his gaze. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Although I’m still going to add five more points to your total. How many does that make?”

“Fifteen points, Sir, plus the regular ten, for a total of twenty-five.”

“Thank you, boy. Go on now. You’re dismissed.”

Alone in his room, Mike was surprised to discover that he was trembling. This was it. They were starting, and it all felt both unreal and much too real. He felt overwhelmed by all the rules and the schedule, even though he knew that nothing Harvey was asking him to do was unreasonable or even all that difficult. And he _wanted_ to do well for Harvey. He wanted to hear his praise, and to see that warm approval in his eyes.

_Just take it one thing at a time_ , he told himself. He could do that, right? So, first thing first. He began to undress, focusing on the movement of his fingers, the whisper of his zipper lowering, the slide of fabric against his skin. He folded his jeans and t-shirt carefully, and dropped his underwear and socks in the hamper.

When he was completely nude, he experienced another moment of panic. He’d never considered himself to be shy, or a prude, but it took a greater force of will than he would have expected to walk out the door and back to the kitchen. Harvey sat on the couch with his laptop open, probably catching up on some work. Mike resolutely ignored him, but as he walked past, he could almost feel Harvey’s eyes on him, looking his fill.

Trying not to think about Harvey just a few yards away, Mike focused on the task in front of him, and made quick work of the empty takeout containers and dirty dishes. By the time he had finished, the utter normalcy of the act had soothed and calmed him, and he felt less awkward walking around Harvey’s condo naked. He took a few deep, slow breaths and moved back out into the living room to pick up his journal.

“I want you kneeling on the floor when you do that,” said Harvey, startling Mike.

He had his journal in one hand, and the pen in the other, and had been about to sit in the recliner across from Harvey.

“Oh. Sure. Sorry about that.”

“Five points.”

“For what?”

“Five more. I never gave you permission to speak. You’re now up to thirty-five. I suggest you try harder to obey my rules. I’m afraid you’re already in for an uncomfortable time on your bike tomorrow.”

Mike opened his mouth to apologize, and caught himself just in time. He nodded meekly and lowered himself to the floor, settling into a kneeling position and opening up the journal. His pen hovered over the blank page. He had no idea what to write, what was expected of him. What had Harvey said? Write about his day, and pose any questions he had.

He thought hard, chewing the end of the pen. After a few minutes, he began to write.

 

_I moved in with Harvey Specter today. I don’t yet know exactly what the words mean, not really, but Harvey’s my Dom, and I’m his sub. It’s a strange feeling. A good feeling? I’m not sure. I’m supposed to be honest here, so I should probably just come out with it and admit that I’m scared. How is that for pathetic? But I just don’t know…. Can I even do this? I keep screwing up, in life, in general, and with Harvey already. Shit, I’ve already got twenty-five naughty points against me. I racked all those up in less than an hour. So far, it looks like I’m shaping up to be the worst sub ever._

_Let me be clear, though. It’s not the pain I’m afraid of. Deep down, I’m convinced that I’m not good enough, and that I never will be. But, Harvey, I’m going to try. I think… I get how this is about trust, and obviously I’m putting a ton of trust in you, maybe more than I would if I was a more cautious, less desperate individual. I think you’re putting a lot of trust in me too, though. I’m just some dumb kid with a drug problem, one slip-up away from ending up in prison, and here I am living in your home._

_Speaking of drugs, I thought about getting high more times in the past week than I have since I attended my first meeting, and that scares the shit out of me, even more than the idea of getting my ass spanked by you. No offense._

_I don’t know if I’ll ever be a good sub, one that you can be proud of, but I’ll at least make sure you know you can trust me._

_I don’t have anything else to say tonight._

Mike wasn’t sure how long he’d been writing. He set the book and pen down if front of him and sat back on his heels. A glance over at Harvey showed him still seemingly engrossed in his own work. _What now_? Mike wondered. He hadn’t been told he could get up when he was finished. He was pretty sure he was still under the no talking rule. Rolling his tense shoulders, he tried to relax. His legs and knees weren’t sore yet, but it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position to hold for an extended period of time.

Perhaps this was some kind of test, to see how he would behave. Well, he was supposed to be Harvey’s sub. How should a sub act? Based on what he understood so far, which was only from reading and not from any real experience yet, he was expected to submit to his Dom, to serve his Dom, to fill his thoughts with ways to please him.

Trying not to be too obvious about it, he eyed Harvey where he sat on the couch. He looked comfortable enough. It was Sunday, so he was dressed casually, in jeans and a faded Harvard t-shirt. He still wore his sneakers. Every so often, he tapped his feet and fidgeted, sometimes giving a soft sigh, as if to siphon off some of his tension.

Mike wondered how much of Harvey’s time and energy he was taking up. He had to be a busy man, with plenty on his plate already. Mike found himself wishing that he could find some way to show Harvey that he hadn’t made a mistake taking him on, and that Mike could be of some use to him, beyond the simple tasks that he’d been assigned. He gazed blankly at the floor a few feet ahead of him, his mind filled with images of himself kneading Harvey’s shoulders and neck to loosen his stiff muscles, or removing Harvey’s shoes to rub his bare feet…bending down to lick each toe.

He was startled out of his reverie by Harvey’s voice. “Time for your training, boy.”

Mike’s cock began to plump at Harvey’s words, even though he didn’t know the specifics yet of what they meant. He could feel himself blushing at his reaction, and fully expected Harvey to mock, if not punish him for his lack of control.

Harvey did neither. He took a moment to close out of whatever he’d been working on, shut his laptop, stood up and carried it to the kitchen counter. Then he returned to where Mike was kneeling and stalked slowly around him in a circle. He ran a finger up Mike’s spine, making him shiver, and said, voice stern, “Back straighter. Knees wider. Chin up, eyes down. Hands at the small of your back. Hold your left wrist in your right hand.”

He made another full circle around Mike, touching him only once to grasp his shoulders and show him how straight he wanted his back. Just that simple touch sent a shock of electricity through Mike. He was fully erect now.

“Very pretty, boy,” Harvey praised, in what Mike had already begun to think of as his “Dom voice.” Mike’s cock stood at attention, bobbing against his stomach and dampening it with pre-come. “Stay right there,” Harvey ordered, and left the room.

Mike knelt where Harvey had left him, wondering if he’d done something wrong. When Harvey returned a few minutes later, dressed now only in his jeans, and holding a riding crop and a leather zippered pouch Mike was certain that he must have messed up big time.

“Calm down,” soothed Harvey, standing directly in front of Mike and running his hand over Mike’s head. “Pay attention, because I only want to explain this to you once. As part of your training, we need to explore how well you tolerate pain.” Here he held up the riding crop, as if Mike could have missed it earlier. “At the same time, I will use some of my toys – ” He held up the leather pouch. “– to link that pain with pleasure. You’ve indicated that you don’t object to incorporating a sexual component into your submission. Is that still true?”

Mike swallowed and glanced down at his erection. He nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Thank you. I won’t lie to you, Mike. Tonight will be intense. We’re going to dive right in and start testing your limits. Use your safe words if you need them. Tell me what they are, please.”

“Yellow to pause. Red to stop.”

“Good.” He laid the crop and the pouch on the coffee table and bent down to pick up Mike’s journal and pen. “The position you’re in now we’re going to call resting position. Now, interlace your hands behind your head, elbows out. Nice. We’re going to call this display position. While I read what you’ve written, you are to remain in display position.”

He startled Mike by crouching in front of him and using the pen to stroke once up the underside of Mike’s cock, from the root to the head. “It pleases me to see this. During our training sessions, I want to see you maintain an erection at all times. Don’t expect to come. That’s not to say you won’t, if I decide to allow it. But this… “ He circled Mike’s cock with his fist and stroked up and down several times. “This belongs to me. You… all of you, every inch, inside and out, is mine. It’s mine to cause pain to, and it’s mine to give pleasure to. Mine to command. Don’t even think about touching yourself, or bringing yourself off, whether I'm with you or not, or the consequences will not be pleasant. Understood?”

Mike shivered at the dark promise in Harvey's voice. “Yes, Sir. Understood.”

Instead of sitting down to read Mike’s journal, Harvey paced around the room, stopping often to touch Mike, petting his head, squeezing his shoulder, running a finger up and down his spine. It didn’t take long, and then, with a thoughtful look on his face, he shut the book and set it on the kitchen counter next to his laptop.

“Thank you, Mike,” he said, “for your honesty. I will tell you that there is nothing for you to be afraid of, not from me. Until we’ve worked together for a time, I don’t expect for you to believe that, not completely, not in your bones. Part of my responsibility as your Dom is to learn you, to learn your limits, to watch your reactions, to listen to you – to what you say, and what you don’t say – and to keep you safe, even from yourself. In our arrangement, all of that applies both in and out of scenes. This is an exchange: your complete submission, for my unflagging protection and guidance. You may not always believe that I have your best interests at heart, but I do. One hundred and ten percent.”

He walked in another circle around Mike. “Eyes on the floor. The next position we’re going to call ready position. Lean forward and place your elbows and forearms on the floor. Knees wider. Ass in the air. Keep your head up, and your eyes down. Very pretty.”   He walked behind Mike and caressed his bottom. “I like you this way, so much.”

Mike shivered at the words and the touch. _I like it too,_ he wanted to say, but remained silent.

“Now close your eyes.” Harvey's voice had a soothing, almost hypnotic effect on Mike. It took him a moment to realize he'd been given an order, but when he did, he slammed his eyes shut, annoyed at himself for not paying close attention. With sight cut off, he found it disconcerting to hear Harvey walk away, stalk closer to him, and then pause. Something rustled and Mike cracked one eye open to see what Harvey was doing.

"Boy," said Harvey, voice low and reproving, "I gave you an order. Five points."

Something sharp and hot seemed to stab Mike in the chest, and he realized it was disappointment in himself. He closed his eyes once more, and tried to regulate his breathing. Harvey moved again, almost too softly to hear with his bare feet on the carpeting. Mike jumped when Harvey touched the top of his head.

"In the future, you'll keep your eyes shut when I tell you to, for hours if that's what I decide. Tonight, I'm going to give you some assistance." He slipped something soft and lightweight around Mike's head and adjusted it so it covered his eyes. A blindfold. "Can you see anything past that?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. Your world now consists of my voice." He placed his hand on Mike's shoulder. "And my touch.

Mike could hear and feel Harvey moving around him. He kept his hand on Mike, giving him soft touches and strokes to his head, his shoulder, his back, his ass. After Mike got over his initial nervousness, it felt nice, and he began to relax. That is, until he heard a quick _whish_ and a sharp sting blossomed on his hip.

He gave a yelp of pain and nearly lost his balance, remembering just in time to keep his arms on the floor. He settled back into position, and the crop struck again, on his back and shoulder and bottom, half a dozen times. It stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and for nearly a minute, the only sound in room was his harsh breathing, and the echoes of his earlier soft grunts of pain.

He startled when Harvey touched him again, but this time with his hand, petting his head and stroking his back. It felt good, and Mike found himself moving into the touch. Harvey reached under him and Mike felt his thumb rub over his nipple, back and forth, hardening it into sensitivity. He pinched it, not placing too much pressure on it, making Mike shiver with sudden want.

Then the crop whipped in from the other side, striking his other nipple and Mike cried out. He couldn't see him, but he could sense Harvey lowering himself, heard the creak of his jeans and the pop of his knees as he squatted next to Mike. Harvey didn't speak, but Mike heard more soft sounds that his ears strained to decipher. Harvey's hand, cool and slick with lube, took possession of Mike's cock and began jerking him off.

Mike sucked in a quick breath, and let it out on a moan. The crop slapped his bottom and the moan was strangled in his throat. Harvey continued his dual attack, supplying both spiraling pleasure and unpredictable bites of pain.

"Remember, boy, you're not allowed to come."

Mike managed a jerky nod, not sure it he was allowed to speak. He felt on edge, on fire, turned on and confused in equal measure. Harvey removed his hand from Mike's cock and stood up. Mike thought he stepped back, but he couldn't be sure. There followed several minutes of complete silence. Harvey didn't move, or speak, and Mike couldn't even hear him breathing. He was now hyper-aware of the lingering stings from the crop, and the aching need for release. He couldn't do anything about either sensation, couldn't stop them, and couldn't compel them to continue. He was Harvey's to do with as he willed, and he shivered at the realization.

As if reading his thoughts, Harvey finally spoke, asking softly, "Who do you belong to?"

Mike swallowed, working moisture into his mouth. "To you, Sir."

More silence followed, while Mike thought about what he'd just said, and listened hard for any sounds from Harvey. He jumped and gave a grunt of surprise when he felt Harvey's hand on his head.

"Stand up," Harvey instructed.

Feeling clumsy and ungainly, Mike got his feet underneath him and heaved to his feet, grateful for the steadying hand that Harvey supplied under his arm.

"Place your hands behind your back. Good. Just like that. Do you think you can keep them there, or will I have to restrain you?"

"I'm fine, Sir. I can do it."

"Good."

"This next part is about trust," Harvey told him. "I'm going to take my hand off your arm, and direct you around the room. I promise I won't send you into any walls, or pieces of furniture. I want you to listen and move when and where I tell you to, with no hesitation. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

At first, it was harder than Mike would have believed to follow Harvey's latest instructions. It was a constant battle to give in to the temptation to unclasp his hands from behind his back and put them out in front of himself, to fend off the obstacles he was certain were in his path. Soon, though, he settled down, and the room and everything in it seemed to melt away, so that all that existed was Harvey's voice, and blank, void space. When Harvey told him to walk forward, he did so. When Harvey said stop, and turn left, Mike trusted that he could do so, and he would remain safe and unharmed.

After a while, Mike was filled with an expanding sensation of freedom from being able to safely rely on someone else to guide his actions, to decide for him where he should step next, and which way he should turn. He felt loose, and as if he was floating, apart from his body. It felt amazing. Was this the subspace he'd read about?

"Stop," said Harvey, and Mike stopped. "You're about a foot from the wall, maybe a little more. I want you to slowly lift your arms and hold them straight in front of you until you're touching the wall. Good. Now, palms flat on the wall and bend slightly at the waist, feet shoulder width apart. Perfect. Beautiful."

Mike felt exposed and vulnerable, and impossibly turned on. He wanted Harvey to hurt him some more. He wanted Harvey to pleasure him some more. He wanted, and he waited. Finally, something struck his bottom, not the crop, but something larger and with more impact, but inflicting less of a sting. He grunted and nearly broke position from the surprising force of the blow. Four more blows in quick succession had his bottom throbbing and beginning to heat up.

With no warning, Harvey stepped close and began stroking him off again. Mike grunted and bucked into the touch.

"Don't move, boy," Harvey murmured, mouth so close to Mike's ear that he could feel his warm breath. "Have you been fucked recently?"

Mike nearly lost control of himself, just from the question. "N-no, Sir."

"How long?"

"Uh... _god, please_...th-three months? I think. S-sir."

"Well, you won't get fucked tonight, not by me, but you've been so good for me that I'm going to let you come. Not from my hand, or my cock, but from one of my toys. Since it's been a while, I'll go easy on the size." He stroked Mike a few more times, rubbing his thumb over the slit and underneath the head. "So pretty," he murmured. He let Mike go. "Don't move, and don't you dare lose that erection."

Mike heard him somewhere behind him, probably selecting the toy he'd mentioned. Mike could feel his heart speeding up in anticipation. He wanted to wipe his damp forehead on his arm, but didn't want to take the chance of moving and causing Harvey to change his mind.

"Before I insert this," said Harvey from right behind Mike, startling him, "you'll get ten more strikes with the paddle. If at any time you lose your erection, I'll stroke you until you get hard, and begin again. After you make it successfully to ten, I have a modestly sized dildo that I'm going to use on you. I'll stop intermittently to spank you, but I won't touch your cock again. If you want to come, you'll have to do it just from the dildo. Do you have any questions about anything I've told you?"

"No, Sir."

He didn't get any warning, just heard the faint displacement of air, before the paddle struck his ass. He forced himself to relax and take the punishment. Not that his cock seemed to think of it as punishment. His erection never flagged, bobbing interestedly in front of him.

"Who owns this ass?" asked Harvey.

"You do, Sir."

"Who owns your cock?"

"You, Sir."

"Who gets to say when you come?"

"You do, Sir. Ah!" The paddle caught him high on his thigh. "Shit. Sir."

"That's it Mike." Harvey was breathing a little harder now from his exertions. "Let me hear you."

With that permission given, Mike gave up the effort to remain silent, and began crying out with each hit of the paddle. “God. Ah, fuck.” He lifted his face and gulped in air. He’d forgotten to keep count, but thought Harvey was up to five or six by now.

Then Harvey caught him off guard by asking, “Did you think about smoking pot this week?”

Mike didn’t even consider lying to Harvey. “Yes, Sir.”

_Smack. Smack._

Mike knew he’d messed up, and Harvey confirmed it with his next words. “You’ve gone soft, boy. What does that mean?”

Just like that, Mike felt like a failure again. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said on a swallowed sob.

“Mike?”

“Sorry, Sir. I’m sorry. I-it means we have to start all over again.”

It didn’t take much for Harvey to get him hard again, and then the blows started anew.

“Concentrate, boy.”

Four rhythmic smacks fell, alternating from side to side.

“Listen to my voice. Wanting to get high is not failure.”

_Smack. Smack._

“You didn’t follow through on it, did you?”

“No, Sir.” He almost shouted the words.

_Smack._

“You’re not a failure, Mike.”

_Smack._

“You’re a good boy.”

_Smack._

“You’re my good boy.”

_Smack._

“So good….” He was whispering now, his chest against Mike’s back, lips almost touching his ear. “That’s ten. You were so good for me. Just look at you.” He ran his finger up the underside of Mike’s stiff cock. “Are you ready for your reward?”

Mike nodded, afraid that if he spoke just then, the tears he felt threatening would not be contained.

“Mike?”

He started to nod again, but that’s not what Harvey wanted. “Yes, Sir,” he husked. “P-please.”

Harvey stepped away. Mike resettled himself, shifting his shoulders and widening his stance to give Harvey better access. His entire ass throbbed, and he could only imagine the sight he must make right now.

Harvey cupped one butt check, making Mike whimper and push back into his hand. Harvey chuckled. “Patience boy,” he said, and probed Mike with the tip of one slick finger. “How’s that feel?” He pushed the finger in up to the knuckle.

“Ah. Definitely been a while, Sir. Feels good, though.” He sighed with pleasure when Harvey added his middle finger and rubbed over his prostate a few times. Then he withdrew his fingers and from the sounds he was making, Mike imagined him preparing the toy with lube.

Holding Mike’s cheeks apart with one hand, Harvey pushed the dildo past his entrance, and it may have been “modestly sized,” as Harvey had described it, but it was plenty big enough to make Mike wince at the pressure growing inside of him. Harvey halted his movements while Mike adjusted to the intrusion. Perhaps he was watching Mike closely, and saw when his face relaxed, because he shoved it in further, and then angled it to brush against Mike’s prostate.

“Yes, Sir,” Mike hissed, even though Harvey hadn’t posed a question. Instead of awarding him five points, Harvey began moving the toy, fucking in and out of Mike in short, quick jabs that stimulated his prostate and soon had him right on the edge. And just like that, Harvey withdrew his hand, leaving the toy lodged inside of him. A second later….

_Smack. Smack. Smack._

Mike groaned and humped air.

_Smack. Smack._

Harvey went back to manipulating the dildo, in and out, hitting the target so perfectly that Mike thought he might fly right out of his skin.

“ _God…_ Please, Harvey. Please, Sir. I need to come. I can’t….”

“Soon, boy, after I play with you some more. It… pleases me to see you like this.” He let go of the dildo, leaving it buried deep in Mike’s guts, and began laying on more hits with the paddle. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Ah, god… yes, Sir. So much.”

_Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack._

Mike heard what he thought was the paddle hitting the ground as Harvey flung it away. Then the dildo began bumping away inside of him again while Harvey used his other hand to stroke Mike’s flaming bottom. Beneath the blindfold, he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate for release. And Harvey must have been completely tuned in to what he was feeling.

“Come, boy,” he ordered.

Just like that, he flew over the edge, mouth open but making no sound, feeling as if his spine had melted inside of him. He heard the wet splat of semen hitting Harvey’s wall. He may have started to fall, but Harvey’s arms circled his waist, holding him up and against his chest. The dildo came out, the blindfold came off, and he blinked against the sudden light and overload of images before shutting his eyes again.

Things were hazy for a while after that, but then he found himself on the floor, curled against Harvey and halfway in his lap, gasping and trembling with aftershocks.

“Mike? Are you all right? Answer me.”

“I’m…oh, yes, Sir. I’m wonderful.”

Light laughter from Harvey. “Drink this,” he ordered, holding a bottle of water in front of Mike’s face. When Mike made a clumsy grab for the bottle, Harvey held it to Mike’s lips and tipped it up to allow him to drink.

As Mike came down from the high of his orgasm, he finally noticed the sizeable bulge in Harvey’s jeans. “Sir?”

“Mmm?”

“I can… can I…”

“Spit it out.”

“You didn’t come.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound accusing, but it did.

“No, I didn’t.”

Mike placed a hand on Harvey’s crotch. “Let me – ”

Harvey grasped Mike’s hand in an almost painful grip and pulled it away. “No”

“No? But I’m good. I promise I’ll make you feel good. It’s not fair if – ”

“I decide what’s fair, boy. Not you. Just as you earned the right to get off, you have to earn the right to my cock.”

It didn’t make any sense to Mike, but he nodded meekly. “Yes, Sir.”

Harvey stroked his cheek, petted his hair. “You did beautifully tonight, Mike. Better than I could have hoped for.” He produced a tube of analgesic cream and patted Mike’s hip. “Roll over onto your stomach, over my lap.”

Mike did as he’d been ordered, and was pleasantly surprised when Harvey began smoothing the cream over his abused bottom and back. Harvey’s touch was careful and sure and soothing. If he’d gone on much longer, Mike would have been in danger of falling asleep right there.

Harvey capped the tube and patted Mike again. He held the water bottle up and helped Mike to take another long drink. “Now clean up the mess you made and get ready for bed. I want you to take your journal to bed with you. If you have any impressions or questions about what we did tonight, you can write them down, or ask me tomorrow. Don’t focus solely on our scenes and your submission, but also be sure to get down any difficulty or thoughts on your cravings and your sobriety. Absolute honesty, Mike. That’s what I expect from you. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Mike slid off of Harvey’s lap and stood up, and was surprised by a sudden feeling of lightheadedness. He swayed, and might have stumbled, except Harvey put hands on his hips to steady him.

“Whoa. Slow down.” He stood up and captured Mike’s chin, tilting his head up to get a good look at his eyes. “You’re still pretty out of it. I apologize. Here. Come and sit next to me for a few minutes while you come down the rest of the way.” He drew Mike down onto the couch with him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He grabbed a throw from the back of the couch and wrapped it around Mike, and then encouraged him to rest his head against his shoulder.

Mike had a few minutes of feeling uncomfortable. He’d never actually cuddled with another man before. But as his heart rate and breathing slowed, he began to relax. He settled in more closely to his Dom, and after a time, even began to grow sleepy. When he was caught off guard with a huge, jaw-cracking yawn, he felt more than heard Harvey’s quiet laughter beneath him.

Harvey placed a brief, chaste kiss on his forehead and squeezed the back of his neck. “Go on now and finish your chores. I’m proud of you. You did well tonight.”

Mike wanted to deny the warm feelings that Harvey’s words stirred up inside him, because how could they be real? It had to be the aftereffects of the shrieking orgasm he’d experienced. Still, if submitting to Harvey meant he could look forward to that every day, it didn’t seem like such an onerous task. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for your comments and kudos, and thanks for reading. Enjoy the holidays, and stay safe!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT?? It's been almost a month since I posted a chapter to this? Inconceivable! Ugh. Guess my brain needed a little down time. Sorry for the delay.

Anticipation for his first discipline session Monday morning kept Mike awake half the night before, worrying that he wouldn’t be able to handle it, and he would humiliate himself in some way. He'd come down off the high of his first session with Harvey, and all of his previous doubts and misgivings came crashing back. When his alarm went off at five o’clock, and he stumbled into the living room and knelt to wait for Harvey to appear and hand out his punishment, he found that he was trembling.

He didn’t have long to wait. Harvey strolled out, already dressed in his workout clothes and appearing as if he had rolled out of bed clear-eyed and ready to face the day.

Harvey didn't waste any time on greetings. “Good, you're here," he said, which Mike chose to interpret as praise. "This will go the same way every morning, so pay close attention and remember what I tell you. Stand up and bend over the front of the armchair. Don’t lean into it, just support yourself by placing your hands on the arms.” He watched Mike arrange himself. “That’s good. You'll hold that position until I release you. Tomorrow I want to come out and find you just like that. Now, remind me how many points you earned yesterday.”

“Thirty, Sir. Plus the original ten, so forty.”

“And how were they earned?”

“I, uh, I spoke without permission, mainly, and didn’t follow one of your orders.”

“Good. Relax your body, don’t move, and think about what you did wrong, and how you will do better today. I’ll be using this paddle.” He showed Mike a black leather paddle that he might have mistaken for a ping pong paddle. “The only time I’ll be using this is during our morning discipline sessions. All right. Get ready. Butt up. Spread your feet wider.”

With that, the spanking began. Harvey didn’t speak at all, breathing easily and regularly, giving a soft, almost soundless grunt with each strike. Mike couldn't see him to watch when the next blow would fall, but he didn't need to. The blows were even and rhythmic, hitting him on the meat of his ass, alternating sides with almost hypnotic regularity. It didn't hurt that much at first, and Mike told himself this would be no problem. Piece of cake. But as the paddle continued to strike, his butt heated up and began to throb.

Harvey hadn't asked him to count out loud, but he did so in his head. By the fifteenth blow, he was echoing Harvey's grunts, and by the twentieth, the grunts had turned into desperate, grinding _ahh's_ of pain. He wanted to swallow the noise, to take the discipline in stoic silence, but he couldn't seem to help himself, and by the thirtieth strike, he was moaning non-stop, and letting out something just short of a yelp each time the paddle struck him.

The thirty-third strike knocked his tears loose, and by then he lacked the will to fight them. He trembled and sobbed and didn't stop until he felt Harvey's hands on him, urging him to let go of the chair.

Unlike the previous night, Harvey did not wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle with him on the couch, whispering assurance and praise in his ear. Instead, he said curtly, "Get dressed for our workout. You have five minutes."

Mike's hands were shaking, and when he spoke, his voice shook as well. "It's Monday," he reminded Harvey. "I have my piss test at seven."

"That leaves you plenty of time."

"But you said...." He clearly remembered Harvey telling him he wouldn't be working out on Mondays.

"And now I've changed my mind. Please get dressed, or would you like to work out naked? Four minutes."

Mike hesitated, and then shook his head. Still sniffing and wiping at his face, he went to get dressed, chest tight with resentment.

 

******

 

_Today sucked. Turns out that riding a bike for eight hours following one of Harvey’s discipline sessions is brutal, and absolutely an incentive not to fuck up. I still can’t believe he went back on his word and made me work out this morning. It doesn’t seem fair. How can I trust anything he says if I can’t trust him on something as minor as that? At least I made it to the piss test on time, and I passed of course._

_I’ll admit, after the test I considered paying a visit to a dealer I know of who supplies Manhattan from his coffee cart. I was angry, and in pain, and I figured if I took a little oxy today, just to make the awful ache in my ass more bearable, that it should be out of my system a week from now. I even pulled over on my way to my first delivery to Google it. And then the compulsion came on so strong I had to park my bike and just walk up and down the sidewalk for ten minutes, back and forth, to calm down. Denny was pissed because I didn’t check in, and the documents arrived after the promised delivery time. (Shit. I hope I don’t earn any spank points for admitting that here.)_

_I did remember to text a 9-1-1 to Harvey, but after twenty minutes of no response, all I got back from him was, ‘Stay away from the coffee cart guy.’ As if I couldn’t figure that out for myself. I nearly turned around right then and pedaled straight to the cart, mostly out of spite. So what stopped me? I’m not really sure, but I did take some time to think about the night before, and how good and right it had felt to let Harvey take control of my life and my body._

_I’m not going to lie. Last night was kind of amazing. Sure, it started out feeling a little weird, and I’m not real crazy about the riding crop, because that thing hurts like a motherfucker, but letting Harvey’s voice guide me, and that spanking against the wall….Call me a freak, but it’s almost scary how good that felt, and how much I wished it could go on forever._

_And, it’s kind of stupid, but the other thing that helped me make it through the day was, surprisingly, keeping my mind fixed on step three. As I pedaled through the car exhaust and noise of Manhattan, I kept the words on a loop in my head: "I_ _made a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of my higher power as I understand it."_ _Except, I replaced the part about my higher power with Harvey’s name. And surprise, surprise -- it actually helped. I didn't have to make the choice about hitting up the coffee cart guy, because Harvey had made it for me._

 

******

 

Mike's training with Harvey continued, although for the rest of the week there was no repeat of the intense sexual release of that first night, which felt like an unfair bait and switch. As Harvey explained it, he was getting to know Mike’s body and his needs and reactions, so they tried a number of different things.

One night, Mike had to kneel quietly facing a blank wall for two hours, while attempting to maintain an erection. He used every image from his spank bank to keep it up, and whenever he began to wilt, he brought up memories from their first scene together. It was a long two hours, but Harvey was considerate enough to allow him a cushion for his knees. His consideration did not extend to allowing Mike to come.

Another evening, Harvey had him kneel, with no cushion, on a straight-backed chair with his ass in the air, and he bound him to it with soft ropes and then worked him over with a suede flogger that had him moaning and flying.

“This is about surrender, Mike,” he said as the flogger came down on his back and bottom in rhythmic sweeps. “Step three. Repeat it to me now.”

“I decided to turn my life and my will over to the care of my higher power.”

“To who?”

“To you, Sir. Ah, god…”

“Who runs your life?”

“You, Sir.”

“Who is going to restore sanity to your life?”

Mike thought he answered out loud, but maybe he only moaned, blissed out as he was, because Harvey said, more sharply, “I asked you a question, boy. Who will restore sanity to your life?”

Mike whimpered. “You, Sir. I want to submit to you. I want to surrender. I’ll do it. Tell me what to do. Just tell me how.” Dimly, he realized he’d started to cry. Only a few days earlier, he would have felt deep shame over all the tears he'd been shedding, but in that moment the concept of shame seemed irrelevant. His sobs grew louder and his chest heaved with the effort of drawing in a decent breath. The flogger continued to fall in even strokes.

“I’m so tired,” he wept. Self-pity welled up inside of him and he slumped in his bonds, no longer fighting against them or worrying that he’d overbalance and tip the chair over. “Please, Sir,” he sobbed. “Show me how to surrender. Tell me what to do.” There was no answer from Harvey. The flogger _whished_ and struck, as even as a metronome, and he slowly calmed, finding a still, quiet place inside himself which seemed as fragile as a cage of gossamer. A shiver ran through him, although warmth suffused his body.

His limbs ached from being bound. His knees hurt from kneeling on the hard wood for so long. His shoulders and back and bottom burned from the flogger, but all of these sensations of discomfort seemed to melt away and leave him as nothing more than… than what Harvey wanted him to be. As revelations went, it wasn’t exactly earth shattering, but it calmed him some more. “Please….” he breathed, and couldn’t have said what he was begging for any longer. His head was light, his erection strong and throbbing. He didn’t even think about coming. It wasn’t what Harvey wanted, so it wasn’t within the realm of possibility.

“I’m good for you, Sir,” he said, slurring his words. “I’m your good boy.”

His Dom’s hand stroked his head soothingly, and he felt something hard and cold pressed against his lower lip. He opened his eyes to find Harvey holding a glass of ice water up for him to drink. He opened his mouth, tipped his head back, and drank greedily. He didn’t pull away, or chase the glass, just drank what Harvey gave him, because Harvey was in charge here. When the glass moved away from him, he licked his lips. “Thank you, Sir,” he said dreamily.

His Dom's hands touched him everywhere, stroking his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, smoothing down his back, cupping his bottom and testing the hardness of his erection. “Very nice, boy,” came that velvety dark voice, and another shiver made its way up and down Mike’s spine. “Would you like me to untie you?”

He didn't know the answer to that. He stared at Harvey's face, searching for a clue. Finally, he nodded jerkily.

He felt the ropes loosen and fall away from his heated skin. Harvey’s arms came around him to keep him from losing his balance and falling off the chair. “Unclench your hands,” he whispered in Mike’s ear. He’d been clutching the back of the chair so hard it was an effort to straighten out his cramped fingers and pull away. “Straighten your legs. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

With Harvey lending support, Mike slid backwards off the chair and then wavered and wobbled. Harvey had an arm under his shoulder and half-led, half-carried him to the couch. “Lie down on your stomach.” Mike did as he’d been directed, and sighed in pleasure when Harvey covered him up with a soft, warm blanket.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he mumbled, fighting off a yawn.

“What are you sorry about?”

Mike opened his eyes to find Harvey seated on the floor next to him, gently stroking his shoulder. “I was weak. I broke down.”

“You did beautifully, Mike. You weren’t weak. You _aren’t_ weak.”

“But I – ”

“I’m asking you to trust me.”

“I do. It’s… it’s just confusing.”

Harvey smiled at him, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle up attractively. “I’m not surprised. I’ve thrown a lot at you this week, and it’s not even halfway over. I almost expected for you to run away screaming by the third day.”

“You did?”

“Sure. Why do you think I let you come so hard during our first session? Incentive. And here you still are. You didn’t give up. You did your best every day.”

"I can do better," Mike said earnestly. "I know I can. I'll try harder." He wasn't sure how, he only knew that he _wanted_ to. For Harvey.

Even as he thought that, doubt and fear crept in, because how could these feelings be real?

"Drink some water." Harvey helped him sit up, sat next to him and handed him the glass. "For now -- for _right now_ \-- just do what I ask you to do. Don't tie yourself up in knots trying to figure this all out." He grinned suddenly. "Tying you up is my job, remember?"

Mike gave a half-hearted laugh. "Funny."

 

******

 

Harvey found a Narcotics Anonymous group which met on Wednesday evenings at six o'clock. Mike biked there straight after work, still wearing bike shorts and a Columbia t-shirt that he'd held onto after he and Trevor were expelled from there. He found his way to the conference room in a building that housed business offices, and held adult education classes in the evenings.

It was a decent sized group, perhaps two dozen people, the majority of them still dressed in conservative office attire. The chairs were set up in neat, precise rows, facing a sleek wooden podium with a huge whiteboard on the wall behind it. Mike thought it looked like a setting for a seminar on _Maximizing Your Investments_ , or something equally dull.

H liked his escape routes, so he took a seat in the back row. In this case, it wasn't rational, since he would need to stay to the end to get his attendance verified, but it was a habit he'd gotten into while taking the LSAT's for other people, and it had proved useful on more than one occasion.

As the leader, a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties, began the meeting by rattling off the usual formalities in a monotonous voice, a man a few years younger than Mike slipped into the seat next to him.

"Nice t-shirt," he said to Mike, pointing at his own chest. He wore a Columbia t-shirt nearly identical to Mike's.

The ubiquitous clipboard made its way to the back row, and Mike signed in. For the first time since he’d begun coming to the rooms, he checked “yes,” that he had a sponsor. It gave him a weird sort of thrill to hold the secret that Harvey was much more than his sponsor. Quite likely, most everyone in the room would disapprove of their arrangement, and perhaps even actively try to convince him to end it. He handed the clipboard to the young man next to him, studiously avoiding eye contact.

Harvey had sent him to the meeting with instructions that he was to stand up and speak, even if it was only to give his name and the briefest of check-ins. Just the idea made his palms sweat and his heart rate climb, and he wondered when he'd gotten so timid. He’d never had a problem with public speaking in school.

As the first speaker talked about her week, Mike tried to remember the confident, cheerful young man he was convinced he had once been. He and Trevor had fun together, he was sure of that. He could remember afternoons and nights in each other's company, could picture them in his mind, where the two of them bounced from one bout of helpless laughter to the next.

Of course, they had been high as fuck nine times out of ten.

He jumped when a hand gave his knee a playful shove.

"Wake up," whispered his neighbor, who was slumped down in his chair with his arms crossed and a bored, derisive expression on his face.

Mike scowled and pretended to listen to the speaker, who was rambling on about recent revelations regarding her father and brother, who, Mike gathered, were both alcoholics.

"My name's David," said the persistent young man next to Mike, leaning in a bit too close for Mike's comfort.

"Mike," he hissed in return.

"This was my parents' idea," David overshared. "An ultimatum, really. You too?"

Stating baldly, _my parents are dead,_ probably would have stopped the nosy kid in his tracks, but Mike found himself admitting, "Nah. The state of New York insisted."

"Ah. A bad boy. I'm intrigued."

That surprised a half laugh out of Mike. Was the guy hitting on him? Or just trying to strike up a friendship? Either way, Mike wasn't interested. "That's right. The worst. I'm certain your parents wouldn't approve, so...."

_Thank you, Elinor,_ the room suddenly intoned, and the speaker returned to her seat.

"Fuck my parents," said David a little too loudly.

A few people turned around to look at them, and Mike narrowed his eyes as he considered David. If he didn't know better, he'd say the kid was high. Without pausing to give himself a chance to talk himself out of it, he stood abruptly and headed to the podium at the front of the room.

"Hi, I'm Mike. I'm an addict."

_Hi, Mike._

His brain refused to supply him with a coherent next sentence, so he forced words out of his mouth, hoping they would all string together to make sense. "I've been doing this for...what? Shit, three months now, almost on the nose. Going to meetings, that is. And that's how long I've been sober. Too." He breathed out slowly and ordered himself to calm down. "I found a sponsor recently. We met two weeks ago. He's already taught me a lot about...uh...incorporating discipline in my life."

He was seized by a sudden urge to burst out laughing, and had to stamp it out. "He helped me get past the hurdle of step two, and now we're working on step three together. I'm trying to turn my will over to my higher power, but some days it's pretty fucking hard."

Mike glanced around the room, seeing sympathy, boredom, blank stares. In the back of the room, David picked at his fingernails. "I mean, at times it seems so simple, and then a minute later it returns to being this impossible struggle. And it shouldn't be, right? The whole point of submitting to your higher power is so that you can give up the struggle. I think. I mean, I guess."

Mike sighed, and continued. "I've been hit with cravings the last couple of weeks. Really strong ones earlier this week. The thing is, I have a prison sentence hanging over my head if I fuck up. That's been a big ass motivator for me to stay sober. Even that might not have been enough, though, if I didn't have my, uh, higher power calling the shots."

He paused to play back in his mind what he'd just said. "It's confusing, and everything still seems too fucking fragile to be real. But I made it through the last few days. So...." He gave a helpless shrug. "I suppose I'll see if I can make it through the next few. Thanks."

_Thank you, Mike_ echoed in his ears as he made his way back to his seat.

"Hey," whispered David when Mike sat down next to him, "that was some topnotch bullshit. When this is over, you want to go get high? I got some good shit."

Mike turned a look on him of utter incredulity. "No," was all he managed to get out. He shook his head for several seconds, in case he hadn't been clear enough.

"You sure? If you want my opinion, you look pretty tense."

"I don’t. I absolutely, categorically, do not want your opinion." He crossed his arms over his chest, signaling his refusal to talk to the little prick again.

 

******

 

"Honey, I'm home," Mike sang out as he walked through the front door. He gave a jump when he caught sight of Harvey in the kitchen staring into one of the upper cabinets as if he was searching for something. He hadn't expected him home so early. It wasn't quite seven-thirty. "Oh. Oops. Hi. Do you mind if I take a quick shower before I start figuring out dinner?"

"I went ahead and ordered something." Harvey shut the cabinet door with a sharp click and turned to give Mike a dark, unreadable stare.

"But I thought....Okay. Thanks." Wasn't that his job? Was he in trouble for some reason? Those questions followed him into the bathroom, where he stripped off his clothes and climbed under the hot water.

As he showered, he reviewed the day in his mind, searching for mistakes. He'd taken his spanking with no crying and no complaints this morning -- and with only five extra added, thank god. They had worked out in what felt like companionable silence, and Mike had evidently remembered the proper form for handling the free weights, because Harvey hadn't yanked Mike's ear buds out to correct him this time. While at work, he'd texted Harvey twice, and the second time he even added that he'd see Harvey after his meeting.

So what was with the weird energy? Had he only imagined it?

He dried off quickly, leaving his hair damp, and threw clothes and towel in the hamper. He started to head to his bedroom for a change of clothes, before putting on the brakes when he remembered the nudity rule. He heard the doorbell ring, and stalled for another few minutes to give Harvey a chance to take care of paying the delivery person.

He tried to shake off the edgy feeling that he'd brought home from the meeting. Shutting David down had seemed liked the easiest thing in the world at the time, but now thoughts kept running through his mind of what it might have been like to say yes to his offer.

When he felt composed enough to face Harvey, he walked into the living room, and froze in pure mortification. He'd interrupted what appeared to be an intense conversation between Harvey and a tall, attractive black woman who was dressed in a stunning grey dress. They both turned to stare at Mike, the woman examining him as if he was an unexpected but fascinating specimen.

"I'm sorry Harvey," she said smoothly, "I didn't realize you were entertaining."

"Jessica...."

Before Mike could flee, she glided towards him and held out her hand. "So lovely to meet you. I'm Jessica Pearson."

Fighting the urge to cover his genitals with his hands, Mike considered her hand, wondering if he was expected to kiss it. Finally, he grasped it and shook it while at the same time cutting his gaze to Harvey, who only glowered at Jessica. "Jessica Pearson of....oh. You're Harvey's boss." The one who made him stop drinking. Interesting.

"And you are?"

He pulled his hand from her crushing grip. "I'm Mike."

Still without looking at Mike, Harvey murmured, "Wait for me in the bedroom, please."

Happy enough to escape the amused, deadly gaze of Jessica Pearson, Mike sought the safety of his room. Curiosity overriding good sense, he left his door open a crack so he could eavesdrop.

"Harvey, you need to let it go. Cameron Dennis is the past. You can't let some bullshit move of his all those years ago throw you off your game."

Harvey shot right back, "You know who is off his game? Clifford Danner. He's in prison because I wasn't paying close enough attention. Christ. Twelve years. Twelve fucking years."

"You trusted Cameron. And you should have been able to trust him."

"Yeah, well that was my mistake. I'm not going to let Danner pay for it any longer, now that I know the truth."

"I don't know what you think you're going to do to fix things at this late date."

Harvey's voice was harsh with anger. "What am I going to do? I'm going to find a way to get him out, that's what."

A brief silence fell. Harvey said something too low for Mike to make out, but it sounded like a plea.

"Of course," Jessica replied. "You know I've always got your back. But you’re going to have to pursue this on your own time. You can't ignore the needs of your current clients. Is that understood?" Another pause. "If you need one of the associates for grunt work -- "

Harvey's voice cut across hers. "No. I'm going to go through that file myself, one piece of paper at a time. This is on me. I will fix this."

"It’s your decision. Just...." She sighed. "Don't let things build up. If you need someone to bounce things off of, you come to me. Or, what was his name, that friend of yours that helped you out?"

"Jake." Flat. Guarded.

"Call him if you start getting thoughts you shouldn't be having."

"Of course."

Mike heard the click of her heels as they moved across the parquet floor near the front door. "I'll let you get back to your friend. He is legal, I hope?"

"He's twenty-five."

"I hope you checked his ID." She chuckled. "I suppose you'll be getting some of your stress released tonight, anyway."

"Jessica...." Mike could almost see him rolling his eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

The door opened and closed, and Mike quickly closed his own door, taking care not to make a sound. He sat on the bed, thought about it for a moment, and then knelt on the floor and waited. Time stretched on, and he ignored his stomach's rumblings of hunger while he thought about the conversation he had overheard. It sounded like Harvey was in some kind of trouble, or imagined himself to be. The name Cameron Dennis had sparked a faint memory in Mike, and he decided that tomorrow, or maybe later tonight, he would go online with his phone and do a little research.

He was eyeing his journal on the nightstand, trying to decide if he should write while he waited, when the door opened.

"Dinner's here," Harvey informed him. "Come on out and let's eat."

Mike stood and followed him to the kitchen where Harvey sat on one of the stools, and Mike took his spot on a folded towel on the floor. Harvey had already dished up a plate for him, and handed it down, along with a glass of ice water. The food was Vietnamese, and it was delicious. Mike's plate held fresh rolls, chicken and cabbage salad, brown rice, and a few pieces of grilled pork. He dug in with gusto.

He was still getting the hang of eating while sitting on the floor and balancing a plate in one hand. Harvey had explained that he could earn a seat at the counter by avoiding extra discipline points for an entire week. He could also earn the right to wear clothing, one piece at a time, for the same price. Mike figured that if he played his cards right, he could be a fully clothed human again by Halloween. If he didn't manage to play his cards right, which was more likely, he might devolve into sitting up and begging, and rolling on his back to get a tummy rub.

_Although...._

"How was your meeting?" Harvey asked.

Mike swallowed the food in his mouth and looked up to find Harvey studying him closely. "Fine."

"Did you get up and talk?"

"Yes, Sir." Harvey seemed to be waiting for more details. "I talked about getting a sponsor. And, uh, working the steps." He shrugged, hoping that was enough. All he got in response was ahead tilt. "Oh, there was something that happened. This guy sat next to me. David. And...." He licked his lips. "He invited me to get high with him."

"What did you say to that?"

"I said no."

"Just no?"

"The 'fuck' in 'fuck no' was implied. He got the message."

"Was it hard telling him no?"

Mike wished Harvey would just drop it, but interrogations were probably second nature to him. "No, it wasn't hard, but only because he struck me as a skeevy little creep."

"And if he hadn't been?"

"Been what? A skeevy little creep?" Mike picked up his plate and poked at the remaining salad with his chopsticks. "Are you asking if I was tempted? Not with him, but in general, sure. It's all I could think about on my way back here." After a sip of water, he asked, "Does it ever end? The temptation, I mean."

Harvey lifted a tangle of noodles to his mouth and sucked them in, chewing as he appeared to think over Mike's question. "I don't look at is as temptation. I see actions, and the consequences of those actions. It has become crystal clear to me how I want to live my life, and I choose my actions accordingly." He pointed his chopsticks at Mike. "You don't want to end up in jail. You know how to avoid that. So act accordingly." He shrugged, as if he actually thought it was that easy.

Mike wasn't up for a protracted debate on the mechanics and irrationality of addiction, so he nodded and pretended to be interested in the rest of his food. He wanted to ask questions about Harvey’s visitor, but refrained, since he didn’t think Harvey would take it well.

When he saw Harvey push his plate away, he got up and began clearing the food away, storing the leftovers in the refrigerator. He put the plates and silverware in the sink and turned on the hot water. Harvey had a dishwasher, but they normally didn't generate a lot of dirty dishes, so he found it just as easy to wash everything by hand.

"I have to make a phone call in my room," Harvey told him. "Write in your journal when you're done in here. We'll have our session after that."

"Are you sure you're up for it?" The words were out of Mike’s mouth almost before he realized what he was going to say, and he immediately knew that he had screwed up. He wasn't supposed to know what Harvey and Jessica had been discussing.

"Are you questioning your Dom?" Harvey's voice was soft, but filled with warning.

Mike's shoulders slumped. "Five points?" he guessed.

"Ten."

Mike's mouth opened to voice a protest, but he snapped it shut in defeat. Yep, he'd fucked up again.

 

After he’d finished in the kitchen, Mike wrote in his journal, mainly repeating what he’d already told Harvey about the NA meeting, and David, and the offer to get high. His mind was only halfway on what he was writing. He couldn’t seem to get Harvey’s conversation with Jessica Pearson out of his mind. Whatever trouble Harvey was experiencing, it was serious enough for the managing partner of his firm to make a personal visit to him, after hours, and to express concern over what Harvey might do – in other words, whether or not he would be tempted to drink.

He was fixated on Jessica’s comment about stress relief when Harvey made his reappearance. Surprisingly, he had not changed into his usual training attire of jeans only. He still wore his work slacks and shirt, although he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

“No pain training tonight,” he informed Mike. “There’s a…situation at work, and I don’t want to take the chance of inadvertently taking out my frustration on you.”

“I don’t mind,” answered Mike without thinking.

Harvey stared at him for a moment without speaking. “You should mind. It concerns me that you say you don’t.”

Mike knew he was treading on tricky ground here, but he’d thought it over. He already had added points for tomorrow’s disciplinary spanking, and would have to start fresh anyway on his quest to gain new privileges. So if he was going to add more points, now would be the time. “I have to confess something to you that you’re not going to like.”

Harvey sat on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Mike to continue.

“I eavesdropped on you and Jessica.”

“Damn it, Mike.”

“I know. Ten points. Twenty. Whatever. I know I overstepped, but I’m telling you now because I honestly want to help. It would be a way to pay you back for all that you’re doing for me.”

“Beyond your submission, you don’t owe me anything, and quite frankly, listening in on my private conversation shows me that you still don’t get it.” Lips pinched together in disapproval, Harvey shook his head. “Tell me though, for arguments sake, how in the hell do you think you could help me? Did you magically become a lawyer overnight?”

Mike tried not to cringe at Harvey’s obvious anger. Part of him wanted to apologize again and drop the subject, but he heard himself say, “No. But I passed the bar a year ago, on a dare. I’ve read as much or more about the law than any Harvard graduate, and I remember everything I’ve read. If you point me in the right direction, tell me what to look for, I’ll find it, assuming it’s there to be found. Plus you can bounce ideas off of me.”

Harvey gave a scoffing laugh. “I might as well bounce ideas off of a moderately bright cocker spaniel. You have zero experience. Books and bar exams are nothing like real life experience.”

Mike did his best to hide the hurt that Harvey’s blunt dismissal caused him. He wasn’t done yet, though. “It’s your call of course, but you’ll never know unless you try me. And I don’t see how it could hurt.”

He paused, waiting for more objections from Harvey. He read resistance in his expression, but at the same time he seemed to be considering it. Mike decided to play his next card. “Forget all that for the time being.” Harvey raised one eyebrow, and Mike hastened to add, “Respectfully, Sir. But, look, there is something else I can do you for, and it doesn’t require a knowledge of the law. I could help you with that stress relief Jessica mentioned.”

Harvey gave him a quelling look, but Mike held up his hand and continued talking, spank points be damned. “I know you said your cock is a privilege I haven’t earned yet, but that sounds so backwards to me. If you would permit me to use my mouth on you, I would make it so good for you. I promise not to come. I know that’s off the table. This would be just for you.”

Harvey’s expression went through a fascinating array of changes as Mike made his pitch – from obstinate refusal, to amusement, to annoyance, and ended up reflecting what Mike could only describe as intrigued anger. He knew he had completely overstepped his boundaries as Harvey’s sub, so he didn’t say anything else, simply waited for the verdict – and the sentence.

It didn’t take long. “Eavesdropping gets you ten points. Arguing with your Dom gets you another ten. I should add more for your appalling pushiness, which is in blatant opposition to your role as my submissive, but I’ll take your good intentions into account and call that a wash. You’re going to have another rough day on your bike tomorrow, so I suggest you strive for perfection the rest of the night. That said, let’s talk about your offer. I’m prepared to believe it’s a selfless one given in the sincere desire to serve your Dom.”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed, and Mike did not care for the calculating look that gleamed in them. “I’m going to use this as a teachable moment. In fact, I’ve just decided how our session will go tonight. You’ll be permitted my cock – with conditions. I’m guessing you’ll regret making the offer, but maybe you’ll learn something. Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.”

That sounded…ominous. Mike suspected he’d made a mistake, and was already regretting his impulsive offer. Harvey didn’t give him time to grow any more anxious than he already was. He disappeared into his bedroom, and he was back moments later carrying a few items that Mike didn’t recognize.

Harvey held the first item in front of Mike’s face, so he could get a better view of it. It looked like a wide leather collar with a large metal ring and four metal prongs radiating out from the four “corners” of the ring.

“This, in case you don’t know, is a spider gag. It will hold your mouth open nice and wide so I can make use of it. As an added benefit – to me – you won’t be able to speak. This – ” he said, showing Mike a small ball, “is a bell ball.” He shook it, making it jingle, and handed it to Mike. “Drop it if you need to safeword. Do you have any questions?”

His only question was whether he was supposed to be as turned on as he suddenly was. “No, Sir.”

“Good.” Harvey stepped closer and tapped the underside of Mike’s chin. “Tip you head back and open your mouth. Wider.”

Harvey worked the large, steel “O,” into Mike’s mouth, settling it behind his teeth. His jaw immediately ached with the wide stretch. The four prongs pressed into his cheeks and the sides of his chin. He fought against the urge to drool, feeling as if he had begun an especially bad session with his dentist.

“Keep your tongue down,” Harvey murmured, sticking his fingers inside Mike’s mouth. He heard a soft click, and then another. “That will keep your tongue out of the way.”

Mike tested the restriction and found that Harvey was right. His tongue was trapped against the bottom of his mouth. Moisture began to pool at the back of his throat. He swallowed convulsively, again and again.

Harvey stared down at him, as if coming to a decision. “Follow me,” he ordered curtly.

He led Mike into the master bedroom, a place Mike had not yet been allowed inside. He took a quick glance around, seeing a king size bed with a black and cream duvet, a pinstriped recliner in one corner, framed artwork and photos on the wall, and dark walnut dresser and matching nightstands.

Harvey gestured toward the bed. “Lie on you back.”

Mike climbed onto the bed and lay down as instructed.

“You’re not allowed to participate in this in any way, so I’m going to restrain your wrists. Stretch your arms over your head.” Using the soft rope he favored, Harvey tied Mike’s wrists to the headboard. “Keep hold of the ball. Are you comfortable?”

Mike gave him a quizzical grunt.

Harvey’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Are you in any pain?”

When Mike shook his head, Harvey produced a blindfold. Mike experienced a stab of disappointment. He supposed that he hadn’t yet earned the right to see Harvey’s cock, or the rest of him for that matter. He lay passively as Harvey covered his eyes and adjusted the strap around the back of his head. More saliva collected in his mouth and throat, and he swallowed nervously, shifting and testing his bonds.

Harvey’s voice, surprisingly gentle, cut through the darkness, grounding him. “Right at this moment, consider yourself no more than a thing. An inanimate object. A hole for me to fill. Relax and this will go better for you. Lie still and let me take what I want from you. Trust that I won’t give you more than you can handle.” He stroked Mike’s head, slow, soft movements that helped to put him at ease. “I don’t expect you to derive any pleasure from this, although I certainly will. Judging by that erection you’re sporting, I may be proved wrong, but it goes without saying that you’re not allowed to come.”

He heard soft rustling sounds which had to be Harvey removing his clothes. He wished he could get a glimpse of Harvey naked, because he guessed it would be an enjoyable sight, but he didn’t have any say in the matter, so he lay quiet and still.

He didn’t have to wait for long. The mattress dipped next to him, and a pillow was slipped underneath his head, lending support to his neck. Knees bracketed his head, and strong thighs pressed on either side of his chest. Seconds later, the heft of Harvey’s cock slapped against either side of his face, and then the flared head slid teasingly into his mouth, rubbing against the roof and sides. Mike’s tongue couldn’t move, but it could still taste the sharp, salty sweetness of pre-come.

Harvey’s hips shifted, and Mike’s mouth was stuffed with silky, hot flesh. He yearned to close his mouth around the head of Harvey’s cock and suckle it using his tongue, but the gag prevented it. _Relax,_ he told himself. Harvey thrust forward, filling his mouth and nudging the back of his throat. Harvey felt…sizable. He pulled out and thrust back in, starting a slow, steady rhythm, lubricated with plentiful saliva. Mike fought panic as his air was cut off, frantically trying to breathe through his nose. He must have made a noise in the back of his throat, because Harvey pulled all the way out and petted his head.

“You’re okay. Breathe in and out, nice and slow. That’s good. I won’t let you suffocate. You still with me? Nod your head if you’re good to continue.” Mike nodded decisively. “Good. Here we go.”

He fucked into Mike’s mouth again, and began pumping deep and hard, the muscles in his thighs bunching and shifting with athletic smoothness. Mike felt tears leak out of the corners of his eyes, but he’d gotten the hang of breathing, and made himself be the “thing” that Harvey needed, loving the sounds he heard escape from Harvey– moans and grunts and harsh, heavy breathing.

“Yeah,” Harvey rasped. “That’s good, boy. You take it so good. So. Fucking. Good.” He slowed for several deep, tonsil-bruising strokes, before speeding up again.

Mike bounced on the bed, the bed shook beneath him, and the headboard thumped the wall with the force of Harvey’s fucking, adding strain to his bound arms. He lost track of where he was, or how long it had been going on, as the world fell away and there was only his mouth and throat, and Harvey’s cock, and his weight and movement. The one brief, coherent thought he had was that Harvey must be in great shape to keep up such a vigorous pounding for so long.

Finally, he felt Harvey tense, as if all his muscles had locked up, and he froze with his cock deep down Mike’s throat, cutting off his air. As his head grew light, Mike braced himself for the expected flood of semen at the back of his throat. Instead, Harvey gave a hoarse, strangled cry, and then Mike’s mouth and throat were clear, and warm semen splatted on his face and chest. Moments later, the bed jounced as Harvey climbed off and collapsed beside him, one hand resting on Mike’s stomach.

 

It took a while for Harvey to collect himself enough to untie Mike and remove his blindfold and gag. In the meantime, Mike came down from the high he had attained, and had time to begin imagining the picture he must make, tied to the bed with his mouth stretched obscenely open and Harvey’s cum cooling on him. He didn’t regret a minute of it, but he began to tremble with reaction regardless. It seemed all at once crazy and unreal, like some stranger had just had their mouth mercilessly fucked by Harvey Specter, not him. He heard a jingle and realized that the bell ball had fallen from his grasp.

Harvey reacted immediately, removing Mike’s blindfold, carefully prying the gag from this mouth after unbuckling the leather strap, and untying the rope to free his arms. Mike worked his jaw to ease the ache that had settled there.

“What’s going on, Mike?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, raising up to rest on his elbows, and swallowing again and again. His chest heaved as if he’d been doing all the work, not Harvey. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It slipped out of my hand.” His voice was a raspy wreck.

“You’re sure?” Harvey’s dark eyes shone with concern. “I didn’t go too rough on you?”

“No. It’s what I asked for. It’s what I wanted. Well, sort of. Was it….” He swallowed again. “Was it what you wanted?”

Harvey continued to scrutinize him, and then nodded. “It was perfect. You were perfect. I should gag you more often. I may have to make this a regular thing. Now lie still a little while longer. I’m going to get you cleaned up.”

_He was perfect._ The words reverberated in Mike’s head, and he did his best to believe them. He’d done so much wrong tonight, but those three words of praise from Harvey filled him with a dizzying sense of happiness that almost, but not quite, made his painful case of blue balls worth it.

When Harvey returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth, he was wearing his robe. Mike realized, too late, that he’d missed his chance to drink in the sight of Harvey naked. He could only hope that he would have that chance again sometime soon.

Neither of them spoke as Harvey washed him. Strangely, to Mike this felt far more intimate than what they’d done minutes ago. Harvey leaned close and scrubbed at a spot near Mike’s temple, his warm breath gusting against Mike’s face. With his solemn expression and mussed hair, he was heartbreakingly handsome. To Mike’s penetrating gaze, he appeared noticeably less tense than he’d been earlier in the evening.

So, mission accomplished. Mike probably shouldn’t have felt so pleased with himself, and he damn sure wasn’t going to let Harvey see his smugness. But even thoughts of the long and painful discipline in store for him in the morning weren’t enough to dampen the feeling that he’d accomplished something useful.

His thoughts drifted to Cameron Dennis and Clifford Danner. Harvey hadn’t been receptive to the idea of Mike helping out with that, but neither had he definitively shut him down. He decided he’d do what little research he could on his own, and wait for Harvey to ask for his help. He was done trying to steer Harvey into anything. Harvey’s “teachable moment” had shown him that any control he believed he had over a given situation was illusory. He tried to work out how that related to his sobriety, and the steps, and his submission, but he’d grown drowsy, and couldn’t seem to hold a thought in his mind for more than a few seconds.

Harvey was patting his hip, and Mike’s eyes snapped open. Had he fallen asleep?

“Go to bed, Mike,” Harvey ordered. He must have read something in Mike’s expression, because he added, almost regretfully, “No, you can’t sleep in here. That is way, way down the list of privileges.”

Stifling a yawn, Mike climbed down off the bed, surprising himself by nearly falling over when his knees wobbled unexpectedly.

Harvey caught his arm to steady him. “Shit. I keep forgetting about your slow recovery time.”

“I’m fine,” Mike said. “Just lost my balance there for a second. But if you want to cuddle, I’m down.”

Harvey gave a soft laugh and let go. “Tempting offer. But no. Go and get some sleep.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He detoured to the bathroom to brush his teeth and relieve himself. While he was in there, he gargled some mouthwash and popped a couple of ibuprofen. Then he collapsed onto his bed and surrendered to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

_At times I wasn't sure I would, but I made it through to Friday. This week seemed insanely long. Thursday was, of course, complete hell at work again, for which I only have myself to blame. Has there ever been such a slow learner in the history of learning? If I could have walked or jogged to all of my deliveries, I would have. Although I squeaked through yesterday with no added points, today my ass was still sore as fuck. Every time it made contact with my bike seat, I was reminded of Harvey spanking me, which led inevitably to thoughts of him tying me up and fucking my mouth. And then I’d get hard, which, when you’re wearing bike shorts, is not an easy condition to disguise. I think I frightened several receptionists, and received one blatant proposition from an investment banker. Not awkward at all...._

_On the plus side, for two days I haven’t thought about getting high. Not once. Well, I did just now, but only because I wrote that._

_The weekend is here, so we’ve got Naked Saturday and Naked Sunday scheduled. Except, of course, for the meeting Saturday night. Harvey says Jake will be there, and afterwards the three of us are heading over to_ Payne _for a while. Jake wants to check in with us to see how our first week together went. I’d almost forgotten that Jake is Harvey’s mentor in all of this, and was once his Dom, not just his AA sponsor. I hope he doesn’t intend to demonstrate proper technique on me or anything like that. My poor, aching ass has had about all it can take this week._

  _No, that's not true. I'd take more if Harvey wanted me to._

_That’s not true either. I’d beg for more if I thought I could get away with it._

_Would I get away with it?_

_*****_

_I nearly chewed the end off of the pen just now, trying to decide whether or not to get into this here. I’m still halfway inclined to keep quiet about this, but I think we should bring it out into the open. I’m going to address this directly to you Harvey, and I’m taking you at your word that anything I write in here is exempt from punishment._

_I can see that you’re stressed out about this Danner thing. Let me help you. Please. You may have kept me tied up, hooded and gagged for most of last night, but before I lost myself in the dark and the stillness, I could feel your agitation, hanging like a miasma, poisoning all the air in the room. Other than our morning discipline session, you refuse to hit me with any of your exquisite instruments. I know I’m not supposed to push you, or try to steer you, but I’m green on that, on the hitting, all the way green for go. I trust you not to take it too far._

_I’ll repeat that: I trust you._

_My mouth is yours, of course, whenever you choose to use me again, but you seem determined to punish yourself._

_Please allow me to help you. Hit me, fuck me, or hand over some of those files and let me add fresh eyes to your search._

_Can we at least talk about this?_

 

******

 

Harvey set the journal on the coffee table and studied Mike where he knelt on the floor next to his chair.“I can see that I still haven’t spanked the stubborn out of you,” he said drily.

Mike bit his lip to prevent the impulsive words from spilling out. _You haven’t spanked much out of me lately._ It wasn’t even true, as his sore ass could attest.

“Mike, have I given you the mistaken impression that submission is only about impact play, and taking pain?”

“No, Sir.” After a pause, he added, “I do like it though.”

"What you like is irrelevant." Harvey tapped a finger to the top of the journal. “It says in here that you lost yourself last night. What did you mean by that?”

Mike frowned, searching for a way to explain. “I…went away for a while. At first, my mind was speeding at a million miles a minute, worrying, planning, freaking out. The whole setup weirded me out. I felt so fucking alone, but after a while, I started to feel floaty. The darkness…I don’t know how to describe it. The darkness expanded. It expanded to infinity, and I was part of it. I felt safe, because I didn’t have to do anything, didn’t have to make any decisions, or figure out how to behave. I could simply exist. It was…trippy.” He watched Harvey’s face anxiously. “Was… is that all right? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, sweethe-- . No. You did everything I asked you to do, which was nothing more or less than to experience the situation in which I placed you.” He fingers tap-tapped on the journal a few more times. “We’re going to repeat the same scene tonight.”

Mike struggled to keep his expression neutral. It seemed Harvey had chosen to disregard what he had written in his journal. Despite his best efforts to disguise his disappointment, Harvey must have seen something in his face.

“Don’t worry, little pain slut. The beatings will resume shortly.” His eyes shone with humor, which wreaked almost as much havoc on Mike’s insides as the casual way he’d named him _pain slut,_ or more specifically, _slut._ "Before that happens, I need to talk a few things over with Jake."

Mike wasn't sure what to make of that, but he nodded obediently. "Yes, Sir."

He waited while Harvey collected the same items he'd used the previous evening. The wiffle ball gag had been thoroughly cleaned by Mike after the scene, and now as Harvey pushed the ball into his mouth behind his teeth, he caught a faint taste of anti-bacterial soap. While Harvey buckled it around his head and adjusted the strap, Mike forced himself to take slow, even breaths. Vent holes allowed air in through his mouth, and after experiencing it last night, he could trust that he was safe, and wouldn't suffocate.

He kept his gaze lowered, but could sense Harvey studying him, as if trying to come to a decision. Finally, Harvey spoke again. "Tonight, I want you to remember why you're doing this, and who you're submitting to. To help with that, after I tie you up and place the hood on you, I want you to lay your head on my knee and keep it there. Nod your head to show you understand."

Mike nodded, liking the sound of this better than the thought of two more hours alone inside his head. At Harvey's gesture, Mike knee-walked closer to the chair.

Using more of his seemingly endless supply of soft rope, Harvey first bound Mike's legs from ankle to knee, wrapping it around and around so he was forced to remain in a kneeling position. A thick cushion went under his knees to keep him comfortable. Next, Harvey drew Mike's arms behind his back and wrapped them up in a similar manner to his legs, ending with a firm knot around his wrists. Mike's cock was already responding favorably to the restraints. Harvey helped him along by giving him half a dozen rough, dry strokes.

Mike's eyes widened when Harvey produced what he recognized as a cock ring. Harvey smiled kindly, holding Mike's cock loosely and rubbing his thumb back and forth over the tip.

"You look so pretty like this," Harvey praised him, "hard and wanting. This will help you stay that way for me, because I enjoying seeing you like this." He adjusted the cock ring around Mike. He held up a small bell with a ribbon attached. "As you remember from last night, if you need to safeword, all you need to do is wiggle your finger."

He tied the bell to Mike's index finger and made him move his finger so that the bell tinkled.

"Are you ready for the hood?" He lifted it and showed it to Mike.

Last night, this had been a gut check moment for Mike. It wasn't the thought of having his vision cut off that bothered him. Harvey had already blindfolded him on several occasions, and he'd handled that with no problem. This, however, played into a latent claustrophobia he'd had all his life, and which flared up at inconvenient moments. The black leather hood was confining and isolating, but he'd discovered that it didn't constrict his breathing, which had been his primary fear. It had been designed with a cutout to accommodate the gag, and eye and ear holes which could either be left open or zippered closed. Small vents below his nostrils ensured sufficient air flow. It was an intimidating looking piece of equipment, but Mike knew now that he could handle it. He nodded.

"I'll be adding these tonight." Harvey held out his hand, revealing two foam earplugs resting on his palm. "Between this and the mask, your hearing will be virtually cut off." He stuffed one in each ear and then petted Mike's head several times, smoothing his hair back, before fitting the tight leather hood over his head.

Mike's breathing and heart rate accelerated immediately. Even with the earplugs, he imagined he could hear his agitated breaths roaring inside of his head, like the sound of the ocean inside a seashell, only magnified one hundredfold. He flinched when Harvey's hand touched his shoulder, but settled as it stroked down his back, warm and soothing. Mike felt his head guided to rest on Harvey's thigh, and he relaxed into him, letting him take his weight.

For the most part, Harvey remained still, although Mike could feel every minute movement as he presumably turned pages in the file he'd been studying earlier. Mike was itching to get his hands on the Danner file. He'd searched for Cameron Dennis on Google Thursday between delivery jobs, and discovered that he was the district attorney, which explained why the name had sounded so familiar. Curious, Mike had searched his and Harvey's names together, which had brought up the surprising information that Harvey had once worked for Dennis.

Searching for Clifford Danner hadn't brought up anything more than a few generic court documents and his date of incarceration. In the end, Mike ended up with more questions and few answers.

Harvey must have read something in Mike's body language, or felt the tension that persisted in him, because he suddenly gripped the back of his neck. Mike's shoulders lifted toward his ears, and he rolled his head on his neck. It was a reflexive reaction, but apparently not one that Harvey approved. In a lightning strike, he reached down and pinched Mike's nipple hard. Mike grunted in the back of his throat and made himself relax. Harvey let go, and rubbed his nipple gently.

Obsessing about Harvey's problem wasn't going to get his head where Harvey wanted it to be, so he forced thoughts of Danner and Cameron Dennis from his mind and tried to focus on other things. He formed a picture in his mind of how he must look, trussed up, hooded, cock standing at obscene attention, kneeling helpless against his Dom's leg. A leg whose muscles felt knotted and tense underneath his cheek.

For several minutes, Mike narrowed his focus to his breathing, drawing it in, sighing it out, slow and even. He mentally explored the stretch of his jaw around the gag, the scent of leather and soap, the sweat-dampness of his hair, the pull on his shoulder joints from his bindings, the slight press of rope into his lower legs, the painful ache of need in his balls, the rush of blood, pumping from his heart and through his body.

Haziness seeped through him and his head seemed heavier where it rested on Harvey. All of these distinct, separate sensations were gifts from his Dom. No...that wasn't quite right. They were gifts from him, _to_ his Dom. He'd surrendered his will to Harvey, and his only task was to take whatever Harvey gave him.

Gratitude flowed through him, and with it, peace. He was safe and cared for. He wouldn't fail because Harvey hadn't given him permission to fail. His chest expanded almost painfully. Harvey's hand cradled the back of his head, and he rubbed his face against Harvey's pant leg.

After that, it became the simplest thing in the world to just be. He existed in the silent darkness, but he wasn't alone.

 

******

 

Mike blinked against the sudden, too bright light. Seconds later, it dimmed noticeably, and then something touched his bottom lip and he opened his mouth obediently, gulping down cool, sweet water. His focus shifted to Harvey's face, which frowned down at him.

"You back with me?" Harvey asked, voice achingly gentle.

Mike's mouth was free, he realized, but speaking felt like too much effort, so he nodded sluggishly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he should be concerned that he had no memory of Harvey removing the hood, gag, finger bell and cock ring. His cock remained fully erect and leaking pre-come, but for the first time he could recall, that fact seemed unimportant.

He had just enough time to realize that the ropes still bound his arms and legs before Harvey squatted beside him and began cutting them away. Mike wanted to protest, but he didn't have a say in it, so he knelt and waited.

Harvey produced a handkerchief from somewhere, and wiped the drying drool from Mike's chin, which he then grabbed so he could get a close look at Mike's eyes. "You were really flying, weren't you?"

Mike opened his mouth, not sure how, or if, he should respond. "I was?" he finally rasped.

Harvey stood up and ruffled Mike's hair. "Let's move to the couch."

He might have intended to help Mike to his feet, but Mike started to crawl, and Harvey let him. Harvey sat down, and Mike climbed up to lie with his head on Harvey's thigh. He sighed in contentment when his Dom covered him up with the soft throw.

"Thank you, Sir," Mike slurred.

That stayed there for a time, both quiet, while Harvey petted Mike's head, digging his fingers into his scalp in a way that made him want to purr his pleasure. "Turn the other way," Harvey finally instructed, "face up, with your butt in my lap." He dragged the throw off of Mike.

Feeling loose and ungainly, Mike moved to obey, rearranging himself so that he still lay perpendicular to Harvey, with his ass in Harvey's lap, and his legs dangling over the side of the couch. The position brought his engorged cock within easy reach of Harvey's hands and mouth.

"You were so good for me tonight," murmured Harvey. "I'm going to reward you and let you come, but first I want to play with you a little."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Harvey drizzled lube on one hand, with which he began a slow, torturous stroking of Mike's cock. With his other hand, he toyed with Mike's nipples, pinching them hard and flicking at them with his thumbnail. He leaned over and cupped Mike's butt to lift him, and sucked first one, and then the other of his balls into his mouth, mouthing and licking with maddening deliberation. Mike's hands clenched at his sides as he watched, fascinated by the inky darkness of Harvey's eyes, the furrow of his brows, those moles he longed to taste.

Mike panted as he rode the razor-sharp edge of his orgasm. The needs of his body warred with his need to be obedient. "Ahh," he keened, arching his neck and breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, fighting with everything he had not to come yet.

Showing mercy, Harvey gave him a break, backing off and rubbing soothing circles on his stomach. "So beautiful," he whispered. "So good for me."

Mike felt like he might launch into orbit again just from the sound of Harvey's praise.

"Turn over, sweetheart." Harvey helped him roll onto his stomach, still draped over his Dom's lap. He felt Harvey's own impressive erection pressing against him.

A well-lubed finger poked into Mike, aiming for and finding his prostate, and massaging it so ruthlessly that all Mike could do was writhe and groan, and keep his eyes squeezed tightly close.

"Rub off on me, baby," Harvey urged. "Come whenever you’re ready. Make a mess on my leg while I finger fuck you." He held Mike's ass cheeks apart with one hand and jammed two fingers in deep, over and over.

With permission finally given, it didn't take Mike long. He rutted, clumsy and wild, gaining blessed friction from Harvey's jeans, and thrusting back to meet his fingers. His orgasm ripped through him, robbing him of his voice, leaving him gasping and shuddering. When his vocal cords unfroze, he erupted in a wordless shout.

He lay over Harvey's lap, loose and drifting, soaking up Harvey's murmured praise like a sponge. The still functioning part of his brain realized that Harvey hadn't come, and much as he would have loved to offer to help him with that, maybe he had managed to learn something after all. If Harvey chose to use Mike in that way, he knew Mike was willing. It was Harvey's choice though, and so Mike let go of his need to control, breathing it out on a shaky sigh, feeling it exit his body like jettisoning an anchor that had been weighing him down, and leaving him lighter, and filled with a strange, sharp joy.

He didn't give in to a storm of tears, but they trickled down his cheeks just the same, spilling from his eyes in lazy runnels, like poison leaving a wound. Slowly, slowly, he came down from his high, until he finally became aware of the damp stickiness cooling against his lower belly and Harvey's jeans. He had indeed made a mess, and judging by Harvey's stroking hands and tender voice, his Dom had loved every second of it.

Mike stretched lazily, and looked over his shoulder. "Thank you, Sir. That was amazing."

"Yes, it was. Let's get cleaned up, though. Do you think you can stand?"

"Yes, Sir." He shifted forwards and slid his legs off the end of the couch, nearly catching Harvey in the balls with his knee. "Shit. Sorry about that." He managed to get his feet on the floor, and then lost his balance and rolled off to land on his butt.

Harvey was down next to him in a second, getting an arm under his shoulder to hoist him up. "Jesus, Mike, you're next to helpless after a scene." He walked them down the hall and into the bathroom, closed the toilet lid, and sat Mike down on it. "Do you think you can sit there and not melt into a puddle on the floor while I get undressed?"

Mike perked up immediately. Undressed? Harvey was getting undressed in front of him? This was new. "Yes, Sir."

Off came Harvey's shirt, revealing a smoothly muscled torso that he'd only seen hinted at before under sweaty workout clothes. _I bet he waxes,_ Mike thought, half-amused and half-aroused at the image that popped into his mind of Harvey dripping hot wax onto Mike's sensitive parts. That thought evaporated as soon as Harvey shucked off his jeans and boxer briefs, freeing his impressive cock. Mike looked his fill, admiring its beautiful size and shape. It stood at proud attention, purplish and angry looking -- but angry in a good way. Mike wouldn't mind being on the receiving end of that anger, not at all. He licked his lips, not bothering to disguise the fact that he was staring.

Harvey appeared amused by Mike's fixed gaze. After turning on the shower and testing the temperature, he grabbed him under the arm and helped him stand. "Come on, cock slut. Into the shower."

Surprisingly, Harvey joined him under the water, probably worried that Mike would topple over again if left on his own. Standing behind him with one arm wrapped around his waist, Harvey soaped him up and ran wet hands all over him as steam billowed between and around them, making Mike's already light head lighter. Harvey unhooked the showerhead and sprayed Mike clean, switching the water to a pulsing action to tease Mike's limp, sensitive dick until Mike whimpered for mercy.

Harvey reattached the showerhead and instructed Mike to lean over and place his hands against the wall. Mike could feel and hear Harvey behind him, washing himself. He longed to peek over his shoulder and feast on the sight of wet, naked Harvey, but stayed resolutely in position.

Finally, with the water still spraying down, Harvey stepped behind Mike and fitted his cock in his crack. "Stay still," he breathed in Mike's ear, making him shiver. Then Harvey began to move, taking Mike up on his offer to use him, rubbing against him, squeezing his ass cheeks closer to provide a welcoming channel for his rutting cock. "That's it," Harvey crooned. "So good for me."

He sped up, his enthusiastic thrusts shoving Mike closer to the wall until his face was smashed up against it. As Harvey humped his way towards completion, Mike was in heaven, wondering how many times in one night Harvey would sent him into orbit. "Do it, Sir," he heard himself mumbling. "Use me. Use your slut."

Harvey tensed and froze, fingers digging into Mike's bottom, and then warm liquid sluiced into Mike's crack, and down his thighs and legs. Harvey grabbed him around the middle, clutched him tight, and mouthed Mike's shoulder, teeth sinking in just short of painful. He held Mike there for nearly a minute before turning him around and washing him clean again.

After he shut off the water, they stepped out of the shower and Harvey used a fluffy towel to dry Mike off. He placed a chaste kiss on Mike's temple. "Thank you," he said gravely. "You go on to bed. I'll take care of the cleanup tonight. And set your alarm for seven. I think we both deserve a little extra shuteye."

"Yes, Sir," agreed Mike around a yawn. He staggered across the hall to his bedroom and crawled under the covers. He was exhausted and completely wrung out, but it was a long while before he fell asleep. He kept picturing naked Harvey, kept remembering the wet slide of him thrusting wildly against him. An unfamiliar feeling had invaded his chest, making him restless and warm. He couldn't seem to stop himself from smiling.

As he finally slid into sleep, it was as if the dark had opened up to welcome him, and he sank gratefully into its arms.

 

******

 

At seven o'clock Saturday morning, Mike leaned over the chair in the living room, arms braced, waiting for his spanking. The paddle, now his responsibility, lay on the end table next to the chair. From where he was, he could see the clock on the kitchen stove. At 7:10, he was still alone, holding his position. At 7:20, Harvey had still not appeared, and Mike began to worry. Had Mike heard the time wrong? Was Harvey all right? Should he go check on him?

By 7:30, his arms had begun to tremble from the stress of holding himself still. He was about to break position and go see what was wrong, when Harvey finally strolled out, dressed in sweatpants and a faded t-shirt.

"Thank you for waiting," Harvey said, before picking up the paddle and placing one hand on Mike's lower back. "This is two days in a row with no extra points. I'm proud of you."

And how stupid was it that Mike's heart seemed to take flight and sing with those simple words from his Dom? "Thank you sir," he murmured.

"Tell me why we're doing this."

They were essentially the same words Harvey spoke at the start of every discipline session. "Because I've turned my life and will over to you, and it pleases you to show me my place." He'd improvised a little from his usual answer of _because it pleases you,_ but Harvey seemed to approve.

As usual, with no preamble or warning, the paddle came down on Mike's bottom. He hissed, but not in pain, and silently counted out the ten swats. Harvey seemed to be holding back, and it was over too soon for his liking. His butt had barely had the opportunity to heat up.

Harvey tossed the paddle back on the table and spoke, addressing Mike's backside. "I have to go out for a few hours. While I'm gone, I'd like you to do the laundry. This will be your regular Saturday task. There are probably two or three loads. The machines are in the utility room at the end of the hall." He paused, as if something had occurred to him. "You do know how to do laundry, right?"

Mike was glad he was facing away from Harvey, because he couldn't resist an eye roll at Harvey's question. "Yes, Sir," he managed to get out.

"Good. Oh, I send my suits and dress shirts out, obviously, so you don’t need to worry about starch or ironing or any of that nonsense. Just fold or hang everything else and put them away. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes, Sir." His arms were shaking by now, and his foot slipped as his right arm threatened to buckle.

Harvey steadied him with a hand on his hip. "You can stand up, Mike."

"Thanks." He straightened, and then shook out his arms and rolled his shoulders. After thinking about it for a second, he dropped to his knees, pleased to notice that his movements had become more graceful than they'd been just a week earlier. "I was going to cook dinner tonight. If that's okay?"

Harvey smiled down at him. "That would be great, Mike. Do you need any ingredients? I can stop by the store on my way home."

Mike bit his lip nervously. "I'm not sure yet. Can I text you a list later?"

"That's fine. Let's eat around seven. I talked to Jake last night. We're going to hit an earlier meeting that starts at nine. That will give us plenty of time afterwards." He walked to the door, grabbing his car keys off the kitchen counter as he went. "Oh, and this should go without saying, but don't touch my stuff. No snooping in those files I brought home from work. And stay off the furniture." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Any questions before I go?"

_Where are you going? Why do we need plenty of time tonight? What happens if I touch those files? Is it a Bluebeard-style situation? And what the fuck should I cook for dinner?_ "Yeah. Just, what do I do all day? Laundry and dinner won't take twelve hours. Am I allowed to watch TV? Or read? Can I go outside?"

Harvey glanced at his watch. "I'll allow one hour of television, after your chores are done. Write in your journal. You can read if you get bored. There's a tablet in my nightstand. Pick a book from my library, or download anything you want from Amazon. My password is Closer1, capital 'c'.   This won't be a permanent thing, but I want you inside when you're not at work, just for the first couple of weeks. Anything else?"

"Should I go downstairs and work out? Or is today our day of rest?"

"Save your strength. We'll resume tomorrow." He waited, expectant, but when Mike didn't say anything else, he nodded once, and with a hurried, "Be good," thrown over his shoulder, he was out the door and gone.

 

******

 

Mike fixed himself a breakfast of cereal and yogurt, drank some coffee, and waited until nine o'clock to start the first load of laundry. (Harvey had made him read the condo association rules, and laundry before nine was apparently a major no-no.) He could immediately see that Harvey had over-estimated the number of loads required. Since Mike was naked the majority of the time, he didn't generate a lot of dirty clothes. Two medium loads ought to do it.

Next, he investigated the refrigerator and freezer, to see what he was dealing with. The refrigerator held almond milk, creamer, condiments, a value pack of strawberry-banana Greek yogurt, pickle chips, one lemon, four kinds of cheese, butter, three eggs, a jar of minced garlic (which Mike knew from watching the Food Network was a crap way to use garlic), and several takeout containers left over from their dinners during the week, which Mike earmarked for lunch. The freezer compartment yielded some frozen kale, a bag with individually wrapped tilapia filets, and another with salmon, an expensive brand of ice cream (pomegranate and chocolate), and an assortment of ice packs in various sizes, which was...odd. Did Harvey have recurring injuries, sports or otherwise, that required such Boy Scout levels of preparedness?

Mike supposed he could make something decent from the fish and kale. He still needed a starch, though. He was familiar with the contents of the cereal cupboard: half a dozen types of cereal, pancake flour, packets of Splenda, water crackers, dense multi-grain bread, and a jumbo bag of Cheetos, which he’d found so amusing when he first spotted them that he’d earned himself five points for mocking Harvey. He ignored that cupboard and began opening and closing doors, familiarizing himself with Harvey’s staples and weird culinary indulgences.

What he found when he yanked open the last door made him freeze. A full, unopened bottle of 21 year old Redbreast scotch sat front and center, crowding the cans of diced tomatoes and boxes of pasta behind it. Mike experienced a quick stab of fear, although he couldn’t have said whether it was for the dirty feeling he got at the temptation to crack it open and drink it down to the last drop, or whether he worried that Harvey might surrender to the same temptation. A sudden memory nudged its way to the front of his brain, of the night Mike came home from his meeting to find Harvey staring distractedly into a kitchen cupboard. _This_ cupboard.

Had he been considering taking a drink? How long had the scotch been there?

Mike closed the door slowly and backed away. Maybe Harvey kept it around as a sort of talisman, or a way to test himself, to poke at his sobriety in order to take stock. The more troubling scenario was that the the Danner case had thrown him so badly that he’d bought the scotch that same night, and had been caught in the midst of an internal struggle at the moment Mike walked through the door.

Mike sank down onto his towel on the floor, mind racing. Harvey gave off such an air of impenetrability, that Mike had assumed his sobriety was rock-solid, and he was in no danger of relapsing. He found it disturbing to entertain thoughts of Harvey’s vulnerability, because if someone that strong could fall to temptation, what hope did someone like Mike have? And if Harvey was Mike’s higher power, what was he left with if Harvey proved to be weak?

No, he told himself, and found himself shaking his head in adamant denial. He was misreading the situation. Even if Harvey had been tempted, he hadn’t succumbed. As he assured himself of this, he felt guilt over focusing on how a possible lapse by Harvey would affect him, Mike, and not on the stresses and pressure that Harvey must be feeling, not just on his own behalf, but on Mike’s as well.

He calmed as he thought things out rationally. The bottle remained unopened. And it was in plain sight, not hidden in a light fixture, or in the back of Harvey’s closet. There was no cause for panic. Not at all.

He felt better after thinking things out, but was still edgy and off-kilter when he got up and went to his bedroom to get his phone. He climbed onto the bed and lay down on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his phone clutched in one hand. As he often had this week, he fell back on a simple breathing exercise to clear away the sick feeling which persisted. He breathed in, held it, and breathed out, repeating this for several minutes. When he began to feel better, he picked up his phone and sent Harvey a text:

_Shopping list: crusty bread (pugliese?) should do for tonight. Also, breakfast: bacon, fresh fruit._

He didn’t received a response, but he hadn’t expected one. He went to the utility room to put the first load in the dryer, and started up the second washer load. After that, as far as chores went, there wasn’t much else to do. He flipped on the TV, scanned the available options, and flipped it off again. No way was he wasting his precious hour of TV time on _Ice Road Truckers_ or _Ancient Aliens_ (even if he did sort of have a thing for Giorgio Tsoukalos and his crazy hair).

It felt a wrong to enter Harvey’s bedroom, even though he’d been given explicit permission, but it was only a little past ten, and most of the day still stretched ahead of him, so he went in to grab Harvey’s tablet. Once he was inside the inner sanctum, he felt an itchy desire to poke around to see what he could learn about his Dom.

_Bad, bad sub,_ he scolded himself, and forced himself to back out and return to the living room. He grabbed one of the couch cushions, tucking it under his head as he stretched out on the floor. He powered up the tablet and opened Harvey’s Kindle app. His eyes flickered to the far corner of the room, where a banker’s box sat. Danner’s file. The urge to snoop threaded through him, but he ignored it, wondering when he had become such a curious little cat.

Harvey’s Kindle library contained a surprising number of thrillers and potboilers, along with half a dozen biographies of American presidents. In the mood to lose himself, Mike went online and purchased a surefire favorite, the first book in the _Lymond Chronicles_.

Two hours later, he was so thoroughly engrossed that he’d forgotten about lunch. He didn’t hear the front door open, and jumped to his feet in an excess of nerves when Harvey spoke to him.

“I hope you’re done with your chores,” was the first thing Harvey said to him, carrying a shopping bag to the kitchen, and hanging on to a smaller, handled paper bag.

_Damn, damn, damn._ Mike hurried to the kitchen to put away the few groceries Harvey had brought home. “The laundry is mostly done. I was just waiting for….” He caught himself on the verge of a lie, and his shoulders slumped. “It’s halfway done, but I forgot about it. I’m sorry, Sir.”

An agitated sigh from Harvey. “Five points.”

Mike’s shoulders fell even further, if that was possible. He dropped to his knees and stared at the floor, his chest tight with anger aimed directly at himself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated miserably.

“Go take care of it now. Then I have something for you.”

Mike nodded and stood up, chancing a look at Harvey. That’s when he noticed Harvey’s swollen cheek, and the discoloration which looked like it would develop into a spectacular black eye. “Shit, Harvey. What happened? Are you okay?”

Harvey touched his cheekbone and grimaced. “It’s nothing. It’s my own fault. Forgot to keep my left up.” At Mike’s look of confusion, his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “I was sparring. At the gym.” Mike continued to stare blankly at him. “Boxing?” he offered. “I assume you’ve heard of it.”

“Oh. Sure. But don’t you wear those….” He motioned to his head and face. “One of those head things, so you don’t hurt each other?”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we wear head things.” He grabbed a glass from a cupboard, stalked to the sink to fill it with cold water, and then drank it down in several long swallows. “Not today, though.”

“Why not?”

“I chose not to.”

Mike furrowed his brow. “You chose to risk injury?”

“It didn’t seem like much of a risk. He got in a lucky punch.”

“Because you let your guard down.”

“Mike….”

Hearing the warning note in Harvey’s voice, Mike lowered his gaze, not even sure why he was making an issue of it. He was aware of an unsettled feeling in his gut at the thought of Harvey letting someone else hit him – or of Harvey hitting someone else, when he’d become so reluctant to hit Mike.

Harvey had obviously reached the end of his patience, so Mike held out his hands in defeat and made a hasty exit to go take care of the laundry. As he sorted and folded, he could only feel relief at the thought of meeting up with Jake later on. It seemed clear that Harvey needed someone to open up to, and that someone wasn’t going to be Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

With all the dry clothes and towels put away, and the last load transferred to the dryer, Mike returned to the living room to heat up leftovers for lunch. Harvey was lying on the couch with a medium sized cold pack pressed to his cheek.

“You want some of this?” Mike called over to him. “Looks like we have kung pao chicken, two slices of sun-dried tomato and prosciutto pizza, and….” He pried off a lid and sniffed. “And a chopped salad that still appears to be viable.” He waited, but there was no answer. “Harvey?” He walked into the living room to get a closer look at the other man. “Lunch? Yay or nay?”

“What? Oh. Sure. Thank you.”

Because he was certain Harvey hadn’t heard him the first time, Mike repeated the choices.

“Just a slice of pizza and a little salad for me,” said Harvey.

By the time Mike had everything ready and sitting on the breakfast bar, Harvey had made his way over to sit on his customary stool. Mike lowered himself onto his towel, trying not to wince. Sitting on the floor wasn’t so bad, he consoled himself. And he might as well resign himself to it for the next six months, since the notion of making it an entire week with no points had begun to seem impossible.

They ate without speaking. Harvey finished first, and waited for Mike to scrape the last bit of kung pao sauce from the container before retrieving the small bag he’d carried in with him earlier, and setting it down on the floor next to Mike.

“Those are for tonight,” he told him.

Curious, Mike wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin and pushed his plate away. He peered in the bag and pulled out something cocooned in tissue paper. Unwrapping it, he discovered a pair of matching bracelets made of black, braided leather, about three quarters of an inch wide. Each one had an antiqued brass clasp which looked big enough to stick his thumb through. Mike furrowed his brows. “Okay. You want me to wear these. Sure. Thank you, Sir.” He quirked a smile. “Gee, I hope they go with my shoes.”

Harvey gave a reluctant sounding laugh. “Those are not merely ornamental. When we visit _Payne_ tonight, I may have to leave you on your own for a while.”

Surprised, Mike opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

“I’d like to make it as clear as possible, short of putting a collar on you, that you’re with me. These cuffs may or may not get the message across, but they’ll also serve another purpose that you’ll find out about later. I can see you’re dying to ask. Don’t bother, because I’m not going to tell you.” He waited, as if giving Mike a chance to disobey him. When he didn’t, Harvey’s mouth relaxed into a faint smile.

“Now, how much time will you need to prepare dinner?”

Mike thought about it. “Half an hour maybe?”

“Good, we’ve got some time then. Despite a few notable slips, you’ve done well this week. I’m proud of you. I’ve given it some serious thought, and I’ve decided to give you what you’ve asked for.”

Still basking in Harvey’s unexpected praise, Mike sucked in a breath as he considered the possibilities. He didn’t have to wonder for long. Harvey stood and walked to the corner of the room. He picked up the box containing the Danner files and carried them back to the kitchen, where he dropped them in front of Mike.

“Take a look at everything in here,” he told Mike. “I doubt you’ll miss the evidence that could have cleared Danner – if the judge and jury had ever been allowed to see it. Unfortunately, the new DA has already managed to get it ruled as inadmissible.” His jaw worked for a moment, ticking in remembered anger. “Maybe you’ll see something I didn’t.”

Harvey leaned back against the counter, regarding Mike seriously. “To be honest, I’m not expecting anything from you here. There’s no punishment for failure. But perhaps this will help you to let go of your fixation on helping me with this. Look at it as a puzzle to be solved. Is it solvable?” He shook his head, expression morose. “I don’t know. Two days ago I had every confidence that I could win this one, but Wolf has put up one roadblock after another. I’m starting to think he’s as big a bastard as his predecessor.”

Harvey looked at his watch. “It’s one-thirty. Here’s how our schedule will go for the rest of the day. I’m giving you four hours to play with this. After that, we’ll spend a little time going over your conclusions, assuming you have any. If you have time left, you can write in your journal. Oh, and somewhere in there, you need to finish up the laundry. Then,” he continued before Mike could interrupt him, “dinner, shower, and we’ll leave for the meeting. Questions?”

“No, Sir.” Mike forced himself not to smile. He was eager to get his hands on the file, and when Harvey gave a short nod, he dragged the box closer and pulled out the first file folder.

Mike pored through dozens of witness statements, crime scene photos (which left him wishing he’d skipped the kung pao), evidence lists, reports from the medical examiner, lab results, copies of police notes, various court documents and even a full transcript from the trial. Not wanting to miss anything, he took his time combing through everything.

It wasn’t until he got to the transcript, and the list of exhibits, that he spotted the glaring omissions. Neither the letter from the victim to Danner – clearly showing an existing romantic relationship between them – nor the semen stained camisole had been put forward at trial. Worse, the DNA on the camisole had apparently not been tested at all, not until three days previously, and that had been requested and paid for by Harvey himself. It wasn’t Danner’s DNA, but there was no indication of who it belonged to.

It was difficult for Mike to understand how the district attorney could have refused to reopen the case with such seemingly solid proof that Danner had been framed. It was even more difficult to understand why the previous DA, Cameron Dennis, had suppressed the evidence in the first place. Mike could only be thankful that his own drug case had been a low enough priority to draw an assistant DA who had seemed to him relatively new at her job, and with no particular agenda which might have worked against him.

After he’d finished putting the laundry away, Mike asked for and was granted permission to move to his bedroom, where he could sprawl on the bed while he went over everything again. What, he wondered, could convince a stubborn man like Terrence Wolf to let the case be retried? He chewed his lip and stared up at the ceiling, mind working away at a million miles a minute.

Suddenly, it hit him. “The real killer,” he breathed, sitting up straight and grabbing for the witness statements again. If it wasn’t Danner, then it had to be someone who’d had access to the victim's room.

He checked his phone. It was nearly five-thirty. He gone through the statement four times, and now believed he had a solid theory. Working quickly but carefully – he wanted to get everything back in the order he’d found it in – he returned all of the documents to the file box.

As he slid off the bed and picked up the box, he took a moment to admire the leather bracelets which he’d put on earlier. He’d been trying his best not to feel hurt or disappointment at Harvey’s casual dismissal of the idea of collaring him. Their relationship certainly didn’t warrant it. Mike could understand that. And could they even call it a relationship? No, it was more of an arrangement. A temporary arrangement. Still, Mike couldn’t help picturing a collar at his throat, proclaiming Harvey’s ownership of him. It surprised him how appealing the idea was – not that it would ever come to pass.

The bracelets were nice, though. If Harvey allowed it, he could wear them all day, and no one would look at them twice.

“Mike?” came Harvey’s voice from the living room.

Mike went out to join him. He put the box on the floor, and Harvey tossed him a cushion.

“You can sit," he said. “Now tell me what you learned from your assignment.”

Mike hid a smile at that, and ignored the teacher/student discipline fantasy that popped into his head as he dropped to the cushion. “Danner didn’t do it. Cameron Dennis is a cold-hearted son of a bitch. And Terence Wolf really doesn’t like you.”

Harvey’s eyes shone with approval. “Well done. Yes, yes, and yes. What else? What’s my next move?”

“Prove the frat boys did it. Match the DNA of one of them to what was on the camisole. Pin it on them and no judge could possibly deny Danner his day in court.”

“That’s good, except I’ve already been barred from obtaining a DNA sample from any of them.”

Mike pursed his lips, thinking. “Can’t you do that sneaky thing? That thing where you give them a can of soda, or whatever, and they drink from it, and then you’ve got their DNA. Or you catch them blowing their nose somewhere in public, and you snag the used tissue.”

Harvey shook his head, expression scornful. “You watch too much television.”

“Not lately,” he muttered.

“Ah, ah. Attitude.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Any other thoughts?”

Mike’s gaze drilled into the floor, as if he might find the answer there, buried under the carpet or secreted beneath the floorboards. Finally he had to shrug and shake his head. “I’m drawing a blank at the moment, but there’s got to be something. Justice should make accommodations for wrongs that need to be righted.”

“It’s that sort of naivety that tells me you would never make it as an attorney.”

Mike gave an annoyed huff. “Doesn’t the law exist to protect people? If it doesn’t, then it should.” He met Harvey’s considering gaze and then dropped his own to the floor again. “Anyway, I’ll keep working on it.”

“No,” Harvey practically growled. “This isn’t your problem. I gave you this afternoon, hoping that would satisfy your curiosity, but now I want you to set it aside. We have more important things to occupy our minds tonight.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Mike meekly, all the while thinking that Harvey couldn’t prevent him from reexamining the evidence as much as he wanted, since it was now all lodged firmly in his mind.

******

Harvey praised him for the dinner he’d prepared, although Mike thought it was basic and boring. He’d sautéed the kale in olive oil, and added garlic and lemon juice. He’d made sure the tilapia filets were completely thawed before frying them in the same pan, just enough so the fish was cooked through, but still tender. He added thick slices of warmed pugliese bread to their plates, set out some butter, and dinner was served.

“This is really good, Mike,” said Harvey, swallowing a mouthful of kale. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He took a bite of bread, and licked a stray drop of melted butter that had nearly landed on one of his new bracelets. That reminded him of something. “Oh, hey, I was thinking, if it’s all right with you, could I wear these bracelets all day, like to work and around here? Sir. Please?”

After a drink of ice water, Harvey answered, “Maybe. But only if you can tell me – briefly and cogently – why that is something you want.”

Mike started to blurt out, _because they look cool and kinda badass,_ but caught himself. “Because,” he said slowly, “I think they would serve as a visual and tactile reminder of who I am, why I’m doing this, and who I belong to.” _For now,_ he mind supplied. _Who I belong to for now._

His answer must have satisfied Harvey, because he nodded approvingly. “Then you have my permission.”

They finished eating, and while Mike cleaned up, Harvey went to Mike’s room to pick out his outfit for the night. Mike had nearly forgotten about the new clothes Harvey had bought for him. He couldn’t wear any of them to work, and certainly not around the condo, where Naked Day was every day. He was curious to find out what he’d be wearing, but Harvey had ordered him to shower, so he took care of that first.

When he walked into his bedroom, Harvey’s selections were laid out on the bed. _Sweet,_ was his immediate thought. He shimmied into the tight – oh, so tight – cotton briefs. They were deep burgundy in color, trimmed in white, and hit him right at the hipbones. He checked himself out in the mirror. _Not bad._ Was it his imagination, or did his abs and arms have a little more definition? Yeah, probably just his imagination, after only one week of working out.

Next, he pulled on black stovepipe jeans that accentuated his long, slender legs. These was paired with a tight t-shirt in soft blue grey. The material was smooth and stretchy, and when he pulled it on, it adhered to him like a second skin. He tucked it into the pants and added a black leather belt. After slipping on the checkerboard Chucks that were Harvey-approved, he preened a bit more in the mirror, turning in slow circles, checking out his ass, and rubbing and pinching his nipples until they poked out against the thin fabric.

Just for fun, he tried to picture himself with pierced nipples, thick rings visible under the tight shirt. Or no shirt, and a chain attached to the rings, and a leash…. He stifled a groan and adjusted himself inside the tight jeans.

Grabbing up the black lambskin leather moto jacket, which probably cost more than a month’s rent at his apartment, he went out to present himself for Harvey’s inspection. Mike wasn’t typically vain, but even he knew he looked good, and it warmed him all the way to his bones when Harvey looked him up and down and gave an appreciative nod.

Harvey’s comment, though, almost made Mike laugh out loud. “Christ, I have great taste.” Typical, that he would take all the credit.

Mike was feeling jazzed enough that he wasn't about to argue. "This jacket, man. I've never had anything so nice in my life." He slipped it on, and wasn't surprised that it fit him perfectly. Acting on an impulse he couldn’t have explained, he dropped to his knees and bent down to press kisses to Harvey's booted feet. Straightening, he looked up at Harvey, chest swelling with undiluted adoration. "Thank you, sir." He blushed, suddenly worried that he'd gone too far.

Harvey took it in stride. He dug his fingers into Mike's scalp, petting him like a faithful hound. "You're a reflection of me, and I want you looking your best when I take you out. Besides that, I think you've earned it." He gave Mike's head a pat. "Time to go."

******

Mike sat sandwiched between Harvey and Jake, and his nerves were wrecked. The first thing Jake had done, after giving Harvey a half-hug and touching his bruised cheek with a sympathetic wince, was to slowly look Mike up and down, hot interest in his eyes. Harvey noticed, of course, and gave Jake a level look that was equal parts warning and amusement.

“He cleans up nice, Harvey.” Jake leaned across Mike to address Harvey, one hand resting casually on Mike's thigh, and the other draped over the back of his chair. “Mmm. Positively edible. Damn. I wish I’d seen him first.” He was a big man, aggressively handsome, and taller than Harvey. His dark, neatly trimmed beard gave him the look of a civilized pirate.

Mike knew he was blushing. “Come on, you guys. I’m off duty. Can’t we save the sexual intimidation shtick for later?”

Jake raised one thick, black eyebrow. “Mouthy,” he commented to Harvey.

Mike slanted his gaze to Harvey. He didn’t look angry, precisely, but his lips were pressed together in the way that Mike recognized as a warning sign that his Dom was not pleased. “Review your contract, boy. You’re never off duty.”

Mike lowered his eyes, striving to appear contrite. “I apologize, Sir,” he murmured, and then checked around them to ensure that no one had overhead the by-play.

As the meeting began, another significant look passed between Harvey and Jake.

“We’ll talk more later,” Jake whispered.

The meeting was a lively one, in stark contrast to the grim, creeping hours that Mike had spent at his meetings in Brooklyn. One person after another stepped up to relate their victories and insights during the past week, and were applauded roundly by their peers. Maybe he wouldn’t have to speak. It was bad enough with Harvey here, but Jake was making him doubly nervous.

Mike was so focused on his own anxiety that it caught him by surprise when Harvey stood up and walked to the front of the room. He was distracted for a moment by how hot Harvey looked in his black slacks and dark grey v-neck sweater, but then he began to speak.

“My name is Harvey, and I’m an alcoholic.”

_Hi, Harvey,_ responded the group _._

“It was a rough week at work. Just some terrible, disheartening shit.” He paused, jaw working, and looking as edgy as Mike had ever seen him.   “Part of this program is about making amends. And I had a lot of them to work through, probably more than my share. I worked that step, though. I ground it out, and it was tough, sometimes humiliating, and really fucking painful. I crossed everyone off my list, and I moved on, and swore to myself I would do better.”

He stared sightlessly past the crowd, at the far wall. “I didn’t see it coming. This one thing…this one _person_. The biggest amend of them all, and I had no idea. I need to make it right, not just to tick off another box, but because this person didn’t deserve what happened to him. And – ” He looked up at the ceiling now. “And I worry, because even though I’m not the one who denied him justice, he was my responsibility. I was drinking back then. A lot. Would I have missed it if I wasn’t? I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. But it takes me right back to that place of shame and regret that I'd thought I put behind me.”

He paused again, and even from the back of the room, Mike could see his struggle to maintain his composure. “It’s a fucked up place to be, because contrary to what I’ve been telling myself, this isn’t settled business. I never counted on the fact that events would circle back around and drop me right back into the struggle and the doubt. But.” He gave a forced smile. “I’ve got my support system. And I’m clear in my mind how I want my life to be, more clear than I've ever been before."

His gaze landed on Mike for a microsecond and moved away again. "I did think about taking a drink this week. I let myself entertain the idea, imagined the taste on my tongue, and how it would make me feel, and how fucked in the head I would feel after. I didn't take that drink, ultimately, because I had no desire to dynamite three years of work.

"The fact is, I let down my guard. I know better than that now. We can't ever do that, can we? Because life has an annoying habit of swinging away at us when we least expect it. I've grown complacent, and have skipped too many meetings in the last six months. I won't make that mistake again. Thanks."

_Thank you, Harvey._

He took his seat without looking at Mike or Jake.

The steady parade of speakers continued. Jake lounged next to Mike, at ease, appearing content to observe. When the hour was nearly up, and the meeting leader asked if anyone else wanted to speak, Harvey grasped Mike's upper arm and leaned his mouth close to his ear. "Get up there. Non-negotiable."

Mike gave him a surly look, but raised a hand and stood to walk to the front of the room.

"I'm Mike, and I'm an addict."

_Hi, Mike_.

He cleared his throat, stalling for time. "Ah, some good shares tonight. And, um, just wanted to say I had a decent week. Although, to be honest, I wanted to get high, oh, maybe half a dozen times. Believe it or not, that's down from recent weeks.” He scratched his nose, trying to think what else to say. “I'm still on step three. That whole higher power thing."

He experienced a sharp, sick twinge in his gut as a thought popped unexpectedly into his head. _What happens when your higher power proves to be as fallible as you are?_  He couldn't say that out loud, not with Harvey sitting right there. And really, it wasn't something he wanted to examine too closely, because the notion threatened to cut the legs right out from under him.

"Been...." He let out a rough laugh that no one but himself and Harvey and Jake would understand. "Been submitting my ass off." That elicited a few answering snickers from the group. "And...it's good. It's helping. So...there's that." He was burning with embarrassment by then, feeling like an uncouth child compared to all the self-assured speakers who had gone before him. "Um, if my higher power is listening, it would be great if he could give me a sign that I'm doing it right – the whole submission thing, that is. Then maybe I can move on to the next step. I hear that's a fun one."

He glanced over at the clock. "Guess I better wrap it up. Thanks, guys."

_Thank you, Mike._

He maneuvered past Harvey and sat down, pointedly ignoring the dark looks being directed at him by his Dom -- and the amused ones that Jake made no effort to conceal.

 

******

_Payne_ was noisy and already crowded when they arrived. After checking their coats at the front desk, Jake led them to a booth near the wall, far enough from the dance floor to allow them to talk, but close enough that Mike had a good view of the writhing bodies clad in leather and latex – or clad in next to nothing. Mike got a few interested looks (leers) as he moved through the crowd, trying and mostly failing to walk at heel like Harvey had made him practice earlier in the week. The looks weren't lost on him, and made him feel at once elated, and guilty for being elated. Either Harvey didn't notice the minor buzz Mike's appearance had caused, or chose to ignore it.

At their table, Mike watched Harvey for a clue as to whether he should sit or kneel, but got none, so he played it safe and sank down onto the padded leather kneeler next to Harvey’s seat, lowering his gaze and crossing his wrists behind his back. Harvey rewarded him for his choice with a gentle squeeze to the back of his neck.

Jake waited for the waitress to set three bottles of water on the table before he spoke, and when he did, he addressed himself to Harvey. “So well behaved. And after only a week."

"He's a good boy," said Harvey, letting his hand rest on Mike's shoulder. "A little stubborn, but we're working on that."

Some non-verbal communication passed between the two Doms. Harvey's hand tightened on Mike's shoulder, and he said, "Jake and I need to talk. Why don't you go dance for a few minutes?"

"By myself, Sir? I mean...." He didn't know what he meant, but for some reason he disliked the idea of being separated from Harvey in this crowd of strangers.

Harvey seemed to understand his hesitation. "I'll be watching," he assured Mike, petting his head. "If it helps, imagine we’re at home, and you're dancing just for me. To please me. You can touch yourself. Just don't touch anyone else, or allow them to touch you."

"Hang on," said Jake, raising one hand as Mike stood up. The waitress returned, and Jake nodded towards Mike. "He needs red."

She reached into a pocket and pulled out a small roll of red tape, from which she tore off a strip about three inches long. She handed it to Harvey, and without bothering to ask Mike what he thought about it, he pressed the tape into a horizontal line on the bare skin showing just above the neckline of his shirt.

Mike looked down at the tape, and then at Harvey. "Huh?"

"It marks you as unavailable," Harvey explained. "It says, 'hands off,' essentially." He patted Mike's ass. "Go on. Have fun. Be back in about twenty minutes."

Mike waded into the midst of the moving bodies, letting the bass beat vibrate his bones and slide through his veins. As his hips and arms responded to the dark, insistent rhythm, his heartbeat seemed to sync up of its own accord. He closed his eyes for long seconds, doing just what Harvey had asked, pretending that he was performing for Harvey.

He felt someone's crotch rub against his ass, their erection hard and insistent. "Nice glutes," a voice murmured in his ear. Instead of jerking away, Mike pivoted smoothly to face his molester, who was an attractive mocha-skinned man a few years older than him. Spotting Mike's red tape, he gave Mike an apologetic grimace and moved away to find someone else to grind against.

Left alone, Mike tried to lose himself in the music, but after the brief contact, he felt awkward and self-conscious, and it took him several more minutes to get out of his head again. He wasn't wearing a watch, and couldn't see any clocks anywhere, so he had to guess at how much time had passed. After the third longish song ended, and a fourth began, he decided that it must have been at least twenty minutes.

When he returned to the table, the conversation between Harvey and Jake came to an abrupt halt, although neither of them looked directly at Mike.

Jake sighed. He didn't look happy. "All right, Harvey. Go upstairs. I'll be up in about ten minutes. Room three. It's all set up."

Harvey gave a short, unamused laugh. "You knew I'd ask for this." Jake didn't answer, and Harvey let his dark gaze move to Mike. "Jake wants to talk to you for a few minutes. You can speak freely with him. Do whatever he asks. Consider any orders from him as coming from me."

"Yes, Sir," Mike answered, even as a spike of uncertainty stabbed through him. He watched Harvey stand and move away toward the staircase.

"Have a seat, Mike," said Jake.

Mike eyed the kneeler, but took a seat across from Jake, where Harvey had been sitting.

"So tell me, how do you think your first week went?"

Immediately, Mike's mind went blank. He hadn't been expecting a debriefing with Harvey's mentor. "Uh. Fine, I guess. Challenging. Sometimes confusing. And painful. Definitely painful." He smiled ruefully and shifted in his seat.

"Confusing how?"

"Oh, just in the sense of adjusting to all the rules. And there were a couple of times...." He trailed off, not wanting to say anything that could be interpreted as criticism towards Harvey.

Jake seemed to understand his hesitancy. "It's all right. Anything you say right now stays between us. I promise."

"Okay. It's just that I'm so focused on trying to follow Harvey's directions, like, to the letter, and then he switches things around on me. It's not a big deal. I'm not talking about anything major, but when you're trying to establish trust, it makes it harder when the ground shifts beneath you, even a tiny bit."

"Would you say he has established trust with you? In spite of any perceived inconsistencies, of course."

Mike thought it over. "Maybe I said that wrong. What I should have said was that I went into this trusting Harvey. I kind of had to, to even agree to it, right? I just had a feeling about him….So that's where we started from. Now I suppose it's more a matter of not eroding that level we started with, rather than building it from the ground up." He shrugged, not sure he was making sense.

Jake regarded him with a shuttered expression. "You're either exceptionally foolish, or...." He didn't complete the sentence, and Mike was left feeling exactly like the fool Jake had named him.

"Yeah, okay. This stuff’s all new to me, and I admit I don’t know what I’m doing. I can see now that our arrangement had the potential to go badly. It didn’t, though.   Not yet. Put it down to luck, I guess. Heh. Too bad Harvey wasn't so lucky with me."

"Harvey might disagree, but let's talk about that. Why do you say that?"

Mike experienced a sudden desire for a strong drink, or some potent weed. He might trust Harvey, he mused, but there was nothing in his contract, or in his heart or head, about trusting Jake. Harvey, though, had told him to go along with whatever Jake said, and the last thing Mike wanted to do was make Harvey look bad. So he took a breath and replied, "Because I can't seem to stop all the annoying shit that comes out of my mouth, and the…I don’t know…the _meddling,_ and racking up more and more spank points. Evidently I suck at following orders."

"And that's why you mentioned that the week had been painful?"

Mike nodded. "He's even tried gagging me, twice...no, three times."

Jake appeared to be hiding a smile. "That doesn't surprise me. That tactic worked well on him, as I recall."

Mike had to consciously order his mouth not to fall open at that. He knew that Harvey had been Jake's sub three years ago, but hearing specific details was different than being aware of only the bare facts. Jake was talking again, and Mike had to banish images of a gagged Harvey and focus on what the other man was saying.

"Part of my task in helping Harvey learn to be a good Dom for you, is the occasional wellness check. Right now, I'd like you to stand up and take off your shirt."

After only a slight pause which was due more to surprise than reluctance, Mike stood and whisked his shirt up and over his head."

"Fold it neatly."

Mike folded it and placed it on the table.

Jake turned in his seat to face the aisle. "Stand in front of me, back towards me."

When Mike was in position, he glanced over his shoulder to find Jake examining his back with the help of a penlight.

"Hm. This all looks acceptable. Some superficial bruising, but nothing too deep or badly placed. I've obviously trained him well. Now, take your pants down for me."

Mike was unbuttoning and unzipping almost before Jakes words had registered. Mike's mind may have held reservations about obeying someone other than Harvey, but his body responded to the deep, authoritative voice. With his pants down to his knees, he felt Jake's hands helping him, tugging the pants all the way down.

"Take your shoes off and step out of your pants."

Mike glanced around them, but nobody appeared to be paying them any attention. He stepped out of pants and shoes, and now stood in front of Jake in just his underpants and new leather bracelets.

"Bend over and put your hands on your knees."

The shiver that rippled through him could have been from the cool air hitting his bare skin, or from Jake's voice. Mike bent over. When Jake pulled his briefs down in the back, Mike closed his eyes and tried to pretend his dick hadn't begun to get hard. And it wasn't from Jake's touch, not really. What had him so excited was being nearly nude in a room filled with strangers, and the realization that even if Harvey wasn't present, Mike was doing this, he was obeying Jake, because of Harvey.

For his part, Jake did not seem similarly affected. Mike heard his thoughtful hum behind him, and he didn't sound pleased. His hands touched Mike's bottom, and hips and upper thighs with the same detachment as a doctor. He prodded a few spots with extra firmness, making Mike hiss -- and grow harder. He was practically hyperventilating by the time Jake pulled his briefs up and let them snap back into place. He patted Mike's hip. "Turn around."

Mike turned back around, cheeks hot at the thought of the picture he must make with his erection tenting his briefs and dampening them with pre-come. He reached for his pants, but Jake stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "No. Fold them and put them with your shirt." He watched Mike as he complied. His next question caught Mike off guard. "What is it you do for a living?"

"Me? I'm just a bike messenger."

"And how was it this week, riding your bike?"

Mike crossed his arms over his bare chest. "Painful. Doable, but painful."

Jake raised a hand to get the attention of their waitress. She was at their table in seconds, and Jake handed her Mike's clothes and shoes. "Put these with our things, please. Harvey will collect them on the way out."

Mike couldn't help it. He watched with longing as his pretty new clothes disappeared into the crowd. His heart thudded in his chest. What did Jake have planned for him?

Jake put one hand on Mike's hip, and grinned up at him, white teeth dangerous as a shark's in his neatly trimmed beard. "You're way too easy to read. It's charming. Don't worry, though. I don't plan to trespass on Harvey's territory. I am going to leave my card with Harvey, to give to you. If you ever have any questions or concerns which you aren't comfortable sharing with Harvey, feel free to give me a call, or shoot me an e-mail. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll leave you with one piece of advice before I go see to Harvey. Don't ever forget that he's just as human as you are. Keep the lines of communication open with him, but always with respect. I have every reason to believe you can do that, because just now you've been nothing but a good, obedient, respectful boy, even while you clearly had no idea what I intended to do." He stood suddenly, forcing Mike to take a step back. "And never be afraid to use your safe word. Now, follow me."

Mike was too caught up in wondering what Jake meant by going to "see to Harvey" to pay attention to where the other man was leading him. He looked up in surprise to find himself at the bar. A hip-high brass rail ran parallel to the bar, perhaps fifteen feet in length. Four kneeling subs were chained to the rail, three at their collars, and one by his wrists. The young woman on the end furthest from him was having her mouth enthusiastically fucked by a well-muscled man with close-cropped blonde hair and tribal tattoos.

Jake greeted the bartender with, "Hey, Mel. Busy night. Got room for one more? This is Mike."

She gave Mike a once over and smiled. "Cute. Is he yours?"

"Nah, more's the pity. Just helping out a friend." He glanced over his shoulder at Mike and snapped his fingers. "Kneel, boy."

As if his strings had been cut, Mike dropped down onto a padded kneeler similar to the one near their table. This one was situated between the bar and the railing. With a metal D-ring that Mel handed to him, Jake clipped Mike's wrists together, using the round clasps on his leather bracelets. Then he took one of the thin chains hanging from the brass rail and attached it to the D-ring. Mike’s dick approved.

"We like to call this the docking station," he told Mike. "I'm going to leave you here while I go upstairs. Don't worry. You’re marked with red tape, so no one should touch you, although it won't stop them from speaking to you. Mel's here to help keep an eye on things, and the room monitors are never far away. These other lucky little subbies have been gifted with green tape, and so you should expect to see a few visitors stop by to take advantage of what they have to offer. That ought to keep you entertained. And you can wipe that concerned frown off your face. They've all agreed to this, and their Doms are probably sitting across the room, watching it all go down." He petted Mike's hair, and then beckoned Mel back over, gesturing to something behind the bar that Mike couldn't see. "That one, I think."

The next thing Mike knew, Jake was holding a small item in front of his mouth that looked suspiciously like a pacifier, although the part meant to go in his mouth was shaped like a small, realistic penis, three or four inches long. He'd gone along with everything else, but balked at this. "Really?" he asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

"Really," Jake replied, unfazed. "We wouldn't want you to feel deprived, so you get your own little cock to suck on while you wait. It also serves the purpose of plugging up that unfortunate mouth of yours. So be a good little sub and open up."

Resentful but resigned, Mike made an "O" of his mouth and allowed Jake to shove the pacifier inside. It had a faint mint flavor, and although it was made of hard plastic, the center felt as if it was filled with some type of gel, which made it malleable and perfectly comfortable. He sucked on it, and found he didn't mind it at all that much.

"Good boy," Jake murmured. "You'll be fine. If you need anything while we're gone, let Mel know."

Mike raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Raise your hands above the rail. She'll get the idea." He petted Mike's head again. "Behave yourself. One of us will come get you in about an hour, give or take."

And then Jake was gone. Mike was alone, nearly naked, cuffed and helpless, on display, his mouth stuffed with a ridiculous cock pacifier. He felt mortified, humiliated, and impossibly turned on.

For a few minutes, his thoughts and imagination followed Jake upstairs. What was happening in room three? Try as he might to picture Harvey naked and restrained and at Jake’s mercy, Mike couldn’t quite manage it. It was like the optical illusion with the vase and two faces. He had the two faces lodged so firmly in his mind, he couldn’t make that mental flip to seeing the vase. He kept at it, though, because he doubted he’d ever be given the opportunity to see the vase in person.

And by vase, he meant Harvey submitting to another man, or submitting to anyone else, period. Full stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Going forward, I'll try to stick with a weekly posting schedule. Expect new chapters each weekend.


	6. Chapter 6

_Jesus, he's cute. Who do you suppose he belongs to?_

Mike shivered and shifted on the kneeler, trying to surreptitiously provide some relief to his aching dick. His exposed position made anything surreptitious next to impossible.

_Heh. He wants it so bad._

_I’d help you with that if I could, pretty._

_Poor, lonely sub. Were you a bad boy?_

_Come over here, and I’ll give you what you need._

Mike shut his eyes and groaned around the pacifier. The heckling had been going on almost since Jake left him at the “Docking Station.” He’d witnessed his fellow dockees receiving the attention he wasn’t permitted, after which they were released and led away, presumably by their Dom, or their partner for the night. Now he was the only one left, and had become the entertainment of the moment for a small but vocal crowd, who stood nearby or lounged at the bar, drinks in hand.

A week ago, he’d never suspected that he had a humiliation kink. He could add that to the other things he’d learned about himself since he met Harvey. Harvey, who was upstairs…. _Stop right there. Don’t think about that._

Nerves made Mike suck harder on the pacifier, unconsciously hollowing his cheeks. Laughter and a couple of good-natured hoots erupted from his admirers.

_Look at the tease._

_That’s it, dirty boy. Let’s see what you got. Show us what we’re missing out on_.

_I’d sure as fuck show you what you’re missing._

This last voice had been the most persistent, and belonged to an exceedingly drunk man named Vincent, who Mel had warned off twice already. Mike cracked an eye open to find that Vincent had edged closer once more, lewdly rubbing himself through his too tight leather pants.

“Come on, pretty,” he slurred. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Mike glanced over his shoulder, trying to locate Mel. He spotted her leaning on the far side of the bar, talking and laughing with two women while they all watched the whipping which had just begun on the stage. With no immediate help forthcoming from that quarter, Mike turned back to Vincent and shook his head decisively, setting off a new round of chuckles from the group.

“No one’s coming back for you,” Vincent sneered, wobbling on his feet and gesturing wildly with his bottle of beer. He looked around at the others who had been giving Mike a hard time. “Like a stray dog tied up in front of a store, right?” He rubbed himself again. “I’ll claim you, little doggie. I’ll make you sit up and beg, and roll over and – ”

“Aww, leave him alone,” interrupted a woman dressed in a royal blue corset and slender black silk pants. “He seems like a good boy.” Grabbing a young man by the shoulder, she moved away, steering him toward the stage, presumably to get a better view of the scene in progress there.

“You okay, Vincent?” asked another man, touching the drunk’s elbow. “You need Mel to call you a cab?”

 _God, yes,_ thought Mike. _Call him a cab and get him the fuck out of my face_.

Vincent, however, was having none of it. He yanked his arm away in obvious irritation. “Fuck off. ‘M fine.”

The other man held up his hands and moved away, clearly done with Vincent and his boorish antics. That seemed to be the signal for the remaining hecklers to drift away as well. Mike wished he had a better view of the stage from here. Evidently the scene was a riveting one, as all eyes were directed there. All eyes except Vincent’s. He squatted down in front of Mike, less than two feet away. For a couple of seconds, it looked as if he would lose his balance and end up on his ass, but he grabbed the rail with one hand to keep himself in place.

He grinned at Mike. “The little doggie doesn't have a collar.” He said it as if making an accusation.

Mike lifted his hands slightly, indicating the leather bracelets.

Still smiling, Vincent shook his head, wagging a finger at Mike. “Nope. Can't fool me. You don’t belong to anybody.” He tried to wink, which ended up looking more like a nervous twitch. “I’m gonna claim you, little pound puppy.” He looked around them, appearing confused for a few seconds, and then set his beer on the floor and reached for Mike’s wrists.

Mike shook his head in vigorous refusal, working his tongue in an effort to spit out the pacifier. It felt like it had adhered itself to the inside of his mouth.

Just then, Mel reappeared, placing a firm hand on Vincent's shoulder.

"Whoa, Vincent. I told you, this one's off limits. Back off."

Vincent stood and wobbled as he eyed her, his expression one of utter bafflement. “But he wants it. Just look at him.”

“You’re on thin ice, man. You really want to go on the list?”

His scowl made him look like a petulant child. He hummed and muttered something unintelligible.

Mel led him several feet down the bar, trying to help him get settled on a stool.

“Why don’t you just chill out, and I’ll call you a cab.”

“Don’ wanna cab.” He slapped his palm on the bar top. “I want another beer.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She poured a mug of coffee and set it in in front of him before reaching for the phone.

The Vincent situation seemed under control, so Mike turned back around, trying to get his racing pulse back under control. He could hardly believe how unsettled the stupid little incident had left him feeling. It suddenly seemed like Harvey and Jake had been gone for hours. Mike wasn't uncomfortable, not physically, but he felt twitchy and just _done_ with this part of the night.

He retreated into his head, once again imagining Harvey and Jake together. Was Harvey getting spanked? Strapped? Flogged? Whipped? Mike shivered at the thought of it, and could almost hear Harvey's low grunts, see his sweaty muscles flex and move as Jake worked him over.

Those images only made him hornier and more restless. In an effort to calm his mind and his nerves, he conjured up the Danner documents and began reviewing them again. Even this exercise did not have the desired effect, however. A few minutes in, he began to feel guilty. Harvey had specifically told him not to spend more time on this.

He sighed and shifted his shoulders, attempting to stay in the moment. It wasn't easy, though. He felt neglected and ignored and increasingly resentful. Without warning, hot liquid spilled over his hair and down his back. In one movement, he surged to his feet and spit the pacifier out with such force that it landed several feet in front of him. "God damn it!" he roared.

Once he was standing, the chain that held his wrists together did not give him much slack. He had to turn his head to see behind him, and sure enough, there stood Vincent with an empty coffee mug and a smug look on his stupid, drunk face.

"Got ya, you little cock tease," he slurred.

"You fucking son of a bitch," Mike raged at him. His scalp and back felt scalded, he felt coffee trickling down his ass crack, and he wanted nothing more than for the motherfucker to move within range, so he could give him a swift kick to the nuts. He yanked futilely at the chain that trapped him in place.

Help, in the person of Mel the bartender, arrived almost immediately. At her signal, a man and a woman that Mike had picked out earlier as the room monitors hustled over to take charge of Vincent.

"Shit," said Mel, "I'm sorry, honey. I only turned my back on him for a second."

"Just -- " He clamped down on all of the angry, ugly words that wanted to come spilling out. Mel wasn't to blame for what had happened. "Just, unhook me, okay? I'm done."

She looked uncertain, and as if she might argue with him.

"Red," he bit out. "Fire engine, tomato, burnt fucking skin red. All right? How's that? Is that clear enough?"

Lips pressed together, she nodded, and released him from the chain. "I'll get someone over here to look at your back."

He held up a hand to fend her off. "Forget it. Fuck that. I'm outta here." He stalked off toward the entrance, tuning out all the comments and raised eyebrows caused by what many in the crowd probably considered a tantrum thrown by an ill-mannered sub. He might have a humiliation kink, but this shit had gone too far.

"Mike? What the hell?"

He paused at the sound of Harvey's voice, back tensing, and then continued on without acknowledging him, stomping towards the exit with all the dignity a half-drenched man in underpants and bare feet could muster.

"Give me my clothes," he ordered the startled young man who was watching the front door. When the only response he got was an uncomprehending stare, he ground out, "I'm with Harvey Specter, and I want my clothes. Right now." His voice caught on the last word, and he forced his lips together, absolutely refusing to lose control. Not here. Not yet.

The doorman hemmed and hawed, and then a look of relief washed over his face as he looked over Mike's shoulder. "Mr. Specter. I, uh, wasn't sure...."

"It's all right, Spence. I'll take care of this."

And that just pissed Mike off more. "There's nothing to take care of. I want my clothes, or I'm walking out of here just like this."

With his mouth pinched together, Harvey seemed to examine every inch of Mike, eyes dark and serious. Finally, he nodded at Spence. "Bring me our coats, too. And the key to the changing room."

Mike crossed his arms over his bare chest, trying not to fidget. He couldn't meet Harvey's eyes, and had no idea what he was thinking. At that moment, he didn't care. He couldn’t begin to untangle all the raw emotions bouncing around inside of him.

Spence disappeared into a small room behind the desk, and returned with their coats and Mike’s clothes. Mike grabbed his things, and would have dressed right there in the lobby, but Harvey pointed down a hallway and handed him a key attached to a miniature paddle.

“Get yourself cleaned up and get dressed.”

Mike considered a sarcastic response, changed his mind, and gave a tight nod. His hand shook as he worked the key in the lock of the door Harvey had indicated. Inside was a toilet, a sink with a mirror over it, a shower stall, and a padded bench. He dropped his clothes on the bench and went to stand in front of the mirror, leaning on the sink and staring at his wide eyes and pale, drawn features.

"What the fuck are you even doing here?" he whispered harshly to his reflection. His reflection didn't have an answer for him, so he sighed and turned around, trying to get a look at his back. It didn't look too bad, just a little pink in spots, and damp with drying coffee. It had been more the shock of it than anything else that had freaked him out so badly.

Anger still filled him, making him queasy. He was angry at Vincent, of course, but even more than that he was livid at the thought of Harvey just leaving him there to fend for himself. "Fuck him," he muttered, as he used scratchy paper towels to dry his back and hair. He would wait until he got back to Harvey's place to take a shower, because he needed to be gone from this place _now_.

He continued cursing Harvey in his mind as he yanked his clothes on, suddenly hating the way they looked on him. This wasn't him. Mike Ross was faded jeans, crappy t-shirts and frayed hoodies. He put his hand on the door knob, but hesitated, dropping his head and taking slow, deep breaths. When he felt incrementally more in control of himself, he opened the door.

Harvey and Jake stood near the front desk listening to a handsome silver-haired man in an immaculate suit. The conversation stopped abruptly when Mike appeared. Mike froze. Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but Mike cut him off. "I'll be outside." He strode through the front door and out onto the chilly street, where he paced for perhaps five minutes, until Harvey emerged.

"Mike -- "

"No. Nope. Don't say anything. Not yet. Please. I can't talk about this right now." He was afraid he might say things he couldn't come back from.

"Then don't talk. Just listen. That was Lester Payne, the club's owner."

Mike gave a scoffing laugh. "Les Payne? You're joking, right. What, does he have a brother named Morley?"

"Mike. You're upset. I understand that. But you need to calm down. Lester feels badly about what happened to you. He still has to get the board's approval, but he'll insist that Vincent DeLong is banned from the club after tonight. Lester takes the safety of the members seriously."

"Does he? That's fantastic. It's too bad you don't take mine just as seriously."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means...." _Shut up_ , Mike's brain warned him. He ignored it. "It means that while you and Jake were upstairs getting your goddamn rocks off, anything could have happened to me down there."

"Mel -- "

"Is a bartender, not a babysitter. And drunks are unpredictable, irrational assholes. You ought to know that better than most."

Harvey's nostrils flared. His lips were a razor sharp line, pressed tightly together. Anger smoldered in his night-black eyes. He started walking in the direction of the car, leaving Mike to decide whether or not to follow him. Mike nearly stomped off in the opposite direction, but they were in an unfamiliar neighborhood, it was after midnight, and he might be angry, but he wasn't stupid. He hurried after Harvey, trying not to notice, or care, about the stiff way the other man seemed to be holding himself, which translated into a subtly limping gait.

At the car, Harvey paused in front of the driver's side door, as if debating something with himself. He sighed and held the keys in Mike's direction. "Would you mind driving us home?"

Mike stared at the keys. He shook his head.

"Please, Mike."

Harvey sounded so exhausted and beaten down that, in spite of his anger, Mike wanted to oblige him. Unfortunately, that wasn't possible. He dropped his gaze to the ground, feeling familiar shame fill him.

"I don't know how to drive," he muttered.

"What?" Harvey appeared to struggle with digesting this new information.

Mike didn't bother repeating himself. He waited by the passenger side door until Harvey finally released the locks. They both got in and made the drive home in complete silence.

 

******

 

_I'm having serious doubts about this whole thing with Harvey._

_After we got home from the club, I took a shower and went to bed. We haven't said a word to one another since we got in his car. It's two in the morning, and I still can't sleep._

_I...shit, I just don't know. I thought I was making progress._

_Did I overreact to that bullshit with Vincent?_

_And...I can't believe I actually safeworded. Did that get back to Harvey?_

_Oh yeah. I guess it just did._

_Hiya, Harvey. Like a dumbass, I keep forgetting that you'll be reading everything I write in here._

_Let's get this out of the way: I apologize for blowing up like that at the club. I hope I didn't embarrass you too badly._

_But._

_Damn it._

_I'm trying to give you everything. This isn't a game to me. This is my fucking life. If you want me to stick around and be your boy, you need to keep up your end of the deal. You made me vulnerable to an a-hole like Vincent, and I don't like that. You told me when we started this that you would keep me safe. You may have forgotten that, but I haven't._

_I didn't feel safe with you gone for so long._

_My sobriety won't survive shit like this._

_***_

_I hope your little rendezvous with Jake helps you cope with whatever angsty crap you're going through with the Danner case._

_By the way, I thought of something that might help with that._

_Two words:_ Mississippi Burning.

_That's it. You figure it out._

_***_

_Dare I ask how many points I earned tonight?_

 

_******_

 

Mike had no idea when, or even if, he should present himself for discipline Sunday morning. He didn't bother to set the alarm on his phone. When he woke up after a fitful few hours of sleep, it was after eight. He considered simply staying in his room, hiding out all day, but rejected the idea. It would make him look like too much of a sulky child. He was probably already in enough trouble as it was.

With slumped shoulders, he made his way to the living room to submit to whatever appalling spank-a-thon Harvey had in store for him. The wind immediately left his sails when he found no Harvey. Instead, there was a post-it note next to a pot of freshly brewed coffee.

He snatched up the note and read it: _I have a meeting this a.m. We'll talk when I get home._

Well, that was...anti-climactic.

Mike scratched his stomach and considered what he could do with these few hours of unscheduled time. Watch TV? Read? Go back to bed and masturbate? Wear clothes?

He fixed himself a bowl of cereal and yogurt. After he was done eating, he paced around the condo, eyeing the TV. If he was back at his apartment, he would likely turn on the TV and wallow in shitty programming for most of the day. The idea of going so blatantly against Harvey's orders made him feel crawly and weird inside.

He spent a few minutes amusing himself with thoughts of using Google to search for a deprogrammer in the area, and wondering how much that might cost him.

In the end, he chose to give in to his recent programming, and lost himself in mindless chores. He took everything out of the refrigerator and gave it a thorough cleaning. He rearranged his closet, placing all of the new clothes Harvey had bought him in order by type and color. He dusted the living room, which didn't need it, made up Harvey's bed for him, cleaned the lint filter in the dryer, swept the deck, and unscrewed the drain in the shower to see if there was any hair or other gunk built up in the trap. There wasn't.

At a loss for any other busy work to occupy him, he commandeered Harvey's tablet, and opened up the novel he'd been reading. He was lying on the living room floor with a couch cushion under his head when Harvey finally returned around noon. Warily, Mike closed the reading app and set the tablet aside. He rolled over, raised up on his knees, and placed his arms behind his back, trying to present the perfect picture of submission for his Dom.

Harvey didn't say a word to him, although Mike saw his feet slow and pause before continuing on past him to the master bedroom. He was gone for several minutes, and when he returned he was wearing only his jeans, and carrying a leather strap, the wiffle ball gag, a generous supply of rope, and Mike's journal. He sat down in his armchair and regarded Mike.

"Thank you for making my bed," he said, "and for behaving yourself while I was gone. I have some things I need to say to you. First, I'm going to read what you wrote in your journal. I'm also going to gag you. After I've had my say, I'm going to tie you up and beat your ass with this strap.   Questions? Objections?"

Mike's mouth had gone dry at Harvey's words. He cleared his throat. "What's the beating for, Sir?"

"Because you need it."

"Oh." _Vague._ "How, uh, how many hits?"

"As many as it takes."

Mike furrowed his brow, fighting back the urge to laugh. "Okay. I'm not sure...."

"No, but I am. Come over here."

Mike knee-walked closer to Harvey, and opened his mouth wide to accommodate the gag, sitting patiently while Harvey set it in place and tightened the strap around his head. He experienced a quick stab of panic that his toxic thoughts would be trapped inside his head, with no outlet. As soon as his ability to speak was taken away, however, all of his residual anxiety and uncertainty seemed to drain away.

He was safe with his Dom again, and Harvey would take care of him. He was no longer burdened with the need to speak, or justify himself, or be witty and prove himself clever. His doubts didn't disappear, exactly, they simply became irrelevant.

"Comfortable?"

Mike nodded.

"Good. Raise your hand if you experience any difficulty with the gag." With that, he picked up the journal and flipped it to the latest entry. It didn't take him long to read, and when he was finished he set the journal aside and let out a long sigh.

"Not that it's any of your business, but neither Jake nor I were 'getting our rocks off,' as you so charmingly put it last night. After the week I had, I badly needed to be brought down, and Jake obliged me. You needn't tax your imagination trying to guess the particulars. It involved impact play, and the reason we were away for so long is because it took a long time to get me down to where I needed to be. I don't relish pain, the way you seem to, but I can tolerate a great deal of it. And, again, not that it's any of your business, but there wasn't much of a sexual component to our scenes together."

He waited, letting all of that sink in with Mike, and then continued, voice gentler than before.

"I'm sorry about what happened with Vincent while we were gone. There were supposed to be safeguards in place, but as it turned out, they weren't sufficient. As a result of the events of last night, changes are being made. No subs will be docked without their Dom, partner, or a proxy present at all times. Mel has been talked to about over serving the members. And Vincent DeLong's membership has been revoked."

He reached down and began to stroke Mike's head.

"I don't blame you for being upset. However -- "

Mike's shoulders slumped, and Harvey dug his fingers into his scalp, massaging his head in a way that would have had Mike wagging his tail, if he had one. He edged closer so he could lean against Harvey's leg.

"However," Harvey continued, "your behavior towards me and the employees at the club was unacceptable." His hand slid to the back of Mike's neck, a warm, anchoring weight. "Life is going to throw you curveballs, baby, and you need to find a better way of handling them. You wrote in your journal that you felt your sobriety was threatened by what happened. That concerns me, but we'll talk more about that later.

"We've had one week to try out our arrangement. Please believe me when I tell you that this is not a game to me either. I absolutely want to continue. After talking things over with Jake, he seems to think that I've advanced too quickly. You, however, have done wonderfully, last night notwithstanding. Some pushback was probably inevitable, although I never expected it to come in such a dramatic fashion. So, you safeworded. I think that was the right choice. Your temper remains a problem, though."

Harvey was quiet for a few minutes, although he kept the connection between them with soft touches to Mike's neck, shoulders and back.

"Starting tomorrow, I'm changing our morning routine. The most swats you'll receive is twenty, which will be the starting point. Instead of adding to that throughout the day, you'll have the chance to reduce the number through good behavior. You will always get at least five swats, regardless. Each time you manage the minimum, you'll have one privilege returned to you for the remainder of our time together. Nod if you understand."

Mike nodded, not sure how he felt about this new development. Certainly, his ass might approve, but it still felt vaguely like a failure on his part.

"Now, I'm going to try to accomplish for you what Jake did for me last night. As I said before, I'm going to tie you up and spank you with the strap. I'm going to take you down as far as I can, and we're going to try and keep you there for the rest of the day. If your current word is green, nod your head."

He didn't even have to think about it. Mike nodded his enthusiastic approval.

 

******

 

He felt like a pretzel.

Harvey had led him to Mike's bedroom, and had him get up on the bed on his hands and knees. Using copious amounts of rope and strategically placed pillows, he'd folded Mike up and tied his arms and chest to his thighs. The position made it necessary to rest his shoulders against the bed, causing him to feel unstable and off-balance. His lower legs were bound together from ankle to knee. One pillow cradled his head and neck, another was tied between his knees, and a third was wedged under his torso.

Correction, he felt half-pretzel, half-marshmallow. That he was hard and leaking seemed incidental to the proceedings.

Harvey dragged him to the side of the bed. His feet and ankles dangled over the edge, and his butt rode high in the air. A blindfold covered his eyes, and a bell was tied to one finger. Harvey's palm, warm and elegant and rough, stroked down his back and cupped his bottom.

"Relax," he instructed Mike. "Don't fight it, don't anticipate, and don't tense up. Just let it happen. Accept and submit. Make all the noise you can manage through the gag. And don't forget to breathe."

Mike sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Harvey's hand touched his back again, and then the strap fell, striking his ass with a loud thud. Mike groaned into the gag. The strap hit him again. And again. And again. His efforts to stay relaxed competed with the equal effort to stay balanced on knees and shoulders.

"Let go," Harvey urged him, raining down blows with a slow, inexorable rhythm that Mike could feel thud through his entire body.

He relaxed too much, and felt himself slipping sideways. Harvey must have seen it, because he stopped, and grabbed two more pillows, which he tucked in on either side of Mike, effectively propping him in place.

The strapping resumed. With no sight, and no speech, Mike's focus narrowed to the sound of the strap, and the slap of it against his ass. He kept count in his head, up to number twenty. Harvey paused, rubbing his palm across Mike's hot, abused flesh.

"You're so good for me," Harvey murmured. "Still green?"

Mike nodded against the pillow.

"Stop holding back, baby. Give it up for me."

The strap fell again. Mike synced his breaths with Harvey's rhythmic movements, exhaling each time the thick leather slapped against his ass. At some point, he forgot to keep count. He was floating in a place that was thick inky black, except for a bright bubble of light illuminating Harvey's arm, and his own throbbing ass. He groaned, and drooled, and existed in the dark and the pain.

He realized the blows had stopped, and felt Harvey's fingers working at the back of his head. The straps that held the gag in place fell away, and the gag was pried from his aching jaw.

"Here," said Harvey, pressing something to his mouth, "drink some water."

Mike lifted his head, tipped it back, and opened up his mouth like a baby bird, swallowing the cool water that Harvey poured down his throat.

"Don't speak, just nod if you're okay to continue."

He nodded and licked his lips.

Harvey's breath tickled the hair near his ear as his Dom leaned in to murmur to him, "I'll leave off the gag for now. No speaking, not for a long while yet, but I want you to yell or scream as much as you need to. Get comfortable, because I think we're going to be here for a while. Oh, and I see you're hard for me. I like that very much, but put it out of your mind, because you won't be coming tonight." He brushed Mike's sweaty bangs back off his forehead. "Such a good boy for me," he whispered.

The mattress shifted as Harvey moved away. Seconds later, the strap landed on his ass. Mike hissed, grinding his face into the pillow. On the next strike, he gave a strangled yell, struggling to draw air into his lungs. Another blow, and he was panting, breathing too fast. A broken sob escaped him. The strap fell again and he screamed. That felt so good, he did it again, and again, until his throat felt raw and tender. The blows continued, even and unrelenting.

"Oh, God," Mike moaned, forgetting himself, and then clamped his mouth shut, nearly biting his tongue. He gulped for oxygen. Tears leaked from his eyes, sliding under the blindfold and down his cheeks. He gave a hiccupping sob, another, and then the dam burst open and he began to cry in earnest, wailing like a lost child.

 

Mike didn't know when the blows had stopped. He drifted back from wherever he'd gone, to find himself free of his bonds and blindfold, and wrapped in Harvey's arms, crying brokenly against his bare chest.   Sniffling, he shifted minutely, turning his head to the side. One of Harvey's legs bent around Mike's, holding him in place -- as if there was anyplace else he wanted to be. He relaxed against his Dom, and they lay together like that for long minutes.

For one of the rare times in his life, Mike's mind had gone quiet. He didn't have to say anything, or do anything, or prove anything.

Eventually, Harvey untangled himself. Ordering Mike to stay still, he sat up and grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand. “Drink,” he ordered gently, handing Mike the bottle and shoving a pillow behind his back so he could raise his head far enough to gulp down half the bottle. Harvey took it away again, and place one finger against Mike’s lips.

“No talking for the rest of the day. Not because I don’t want to hear what you have to say, but because you need this. Trust me. Go use the bathroom and meet me in the living room.”

Harvey helped Mike to the edge of the bed and stood with him. Mike swayed, feeling light-headed and off-kilter, but Harvey supported him with an arm around his waist until he felt capable of making his legs obey him. Mike nodded, and Harvey let him go.

 

When Mike entered the living room, Harvey was sitting on the couch, and signaled him to come closer. The lights had been turned down, except for a reading lamp next to the couch, and soft jazz played.

“Lie over my lap,” said Harvey, “and I’ll rub some of this lotion on you.”

Mike obeyed happily. His bottom was throbbing and burning, and he welcomed the relief brought by both the lotion and Harvey’s gentle touch. He would have been content to stay there, across Harvey’s lap, but his Dom had other plans for him, and assisted him in repositioning himself on his knees on a thick cushion at Harvey’s feet.

“I should put the mask on you, but I prefer to see your pretty face while I work. I’m going to leave the gag off as well, if you think you can remain quiet without it. Nod your head if you do.”

It filled Mike with mild surprise to realize that he _wanted_ the gag and the mask. Harvey preferred him without them, though, so he nodded, and was rewarded with Harvey’s not-quite-there smile and his warm hand against the side of his neck.

“Thank you, baby. Now just listen to me for a minute. I’m so proud of you right now. You took the strap so well for me. You broke so beautifully for me. And, clever boy that you are, you may have given me what I need to save Clifford Danner. All I want from you right now is to stay here next to me, and rest your head on my leg while I work. If your knees grow tired, you are permitted to sit. You don’t need to think, or worry, or wonder what the future holds for you. For the rest of today, you aren’t required to decide anything, or plan anything, or do anything. I’ve got it. I’ve got you.”

Harvey’s quiet words washed over him and through him, filling him with an unfamiliar sensation. _Peace._

He settled himself against Harvey, relaxing into him, and even though Harvey had told him not to worry about anything, faint unease twisted through him at the strong emotion that welled up unexpectedly, and that, if forced to put a name to, he might have labeled “worshipful adoration.”

He pushed the unease away, shut off his mind, and turned his will over to his Dom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments and kudos, gentle readers. I think you might get two chapters this week. (Lucky or unlucky for you, depending on your perspective.)
> 
> There's a teeny tiny hint of an ick in this chapter, hardly worth mentioning, but one never knows what will upset folks. I've saved specifics for the end notes, in case you prefer your fanfics spoiler-free.

When Mike's alarm went off Monday morning, he stretched luxuriously, lay still and took stock of himself. His butt was sore, no doubt about that. He rolled onto his stomach and gave his ass a vigorous rub, setting off the pain receptors in a way that made him shiver with remembered... enjoyment? That wasn't the precise word to describe it, and he struggled to put a name to what Harvey had handed out to him yesterday.

He finally gave up, and just smiled into his pillow. He felt rested and calm, more than he had in a long while. His base level anxiety had faded to almost nothing. Not wanting to be late, he got up and used the bathroom, and then carried his paddle into the living for his morning discipline, leaning over the usual chair. Harvey appeared less than a minute later, but instead of reaching for the paddle and starting right in, as had been the routine so far, he sat on the couch instead. Mike gave him a questioning look over his shoulder.

"New rule," explained Harvey. "From now on, you'll receive your discipline over my lap, with my hand instead of the paddle."

Mike nodded, and relocated, draping himself over Harvey's lap, and holding onto one of the armrests.

"You were such a good boy for me yesterday," said Harvey, "that I've reduced your total to ten this morning. Now tell me, why are we doing this?"

With some surprise, Mike realized that he remained reluctant to speak, which was surely a residual effect from the previous day. His tongue felt heavy and clumsy, but he managed to get it working. The words came out scratchy and hoarse, probably due to all the screaming he'd done. "Because I need it, Sir. Need to remember who's in charge. And because it pleases you." _And I would do almost anything you asked._

He kept that last part to himself, although he suspected Harvey had already figured it out on his own.

He loved this latest new rule, he decided, as Harvey's bare palm struck his ass in quick, rhythmic slaps. It was over too quickly for Mike, but served to reawaken the heat from his strapping. He knew Harvey had to feel his erection pressing against his thigh, but he didn't mention it. Perhaps it had become such a common occurrence that it didn't merit comment any longer.

 

Throughout their workout, and breakfast, Mike remained silent, going through the motions in a contented sort of daze. Harvey seemed to understand where his head was, and let him be.

When they met at the front door, both preparing to exit the condo at the same time – Harvey on his way to work, and Mike to take his weekly piss test – Harvey stopped Mike with his hands on his shoulders and turned him around to face him. This almost startled Mike into speaking, but he held still, curious as to what Harvey would do.

Harvey grasped Mike’s chin and checked his eyes. “Mike? Are you in there?” He seemed both amused and concerned.

Mike stared back at him, brows drawn together.

“Come on, baby. Say something, so I know it’s safe to let you go to work today.”

Mike smiled at Harvey's serious tone. “I’m okay, Sir. I’m great, in fact.”

He received an answering smile from Harvey. “Good to know. Not too sore to ride your bike?”

Mike thought about that. “My ass hurts – a lot. It’s good, though. Feeling that ache all day helps keeps me…I don’t know what. Helps me keep it together. Helps me remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Who I belong to.”

The warmth that shone in Harvey’s eyes at that admission was more than worth the ache in his bottom. Harvey surprised Mike by leaning in and placing a kiss on his temple. “Let’s get moving, then. I’ve got a prisoner to free, and you’ve got a cup to pee in.”

 

******

 

For the rest of the week, things went smoothly for Mike. On Monday, he stopped for groceries on the way home from work, and fixed Harvey his one and only specialty, which was spaghetti with his grandmother’s marinara sauce, along with a green salad and garlic bread. Harvey thanked and praised him several times over.

The next morning Mike received only five swats and his first earned privilege – a seat at the counter when they ate their meals. Harvey insisted he still use a towel, because, ass sweat and all that. Regardless, it was nice not to have to juggle his plate and silverware, and to be able to look Harvey in the eye while they ate and talked about their respective days.

 

At his Wednesday night meeting, David was absent, and Mike stood up and shared at length his struggles to rise above the annoyances of the previous week. He didn’t go into specific details about Vincent, and what type of club he’d been at, or what exactly Harvey had done to restore his equilibrium.

“At first, I wanted to blame my higher power for dropping the ball on this one. But what happened wasn’t his, er, _its_ fault, and it was just some stupid shit, anyway. It wasn’t exactly the sky falling in on me. I know what it feels like when the entire sky collapses on your head. It’s happened to me two…no, three times in my life already. My parents died, my grandmother died, and my best friend got me arrested for dealing, and then bailed on me the next day.

“Those are the real gut check moments, and if the sky decides to flatten me again, I need to be ready for it, and really secure in my sobriety. So I guess what I figured out this week was that you’ve got to start by learning to handle all the minor bullshit that life throws at you. I didn’t do so great this time, but next time I’ll do better. Without my higher power….I don’t know. I might be standing here with a different story to tell. Or I might not be here at all. Ah, anyway. Thanks for listening.”

 

******

 

Thursday evening, Harvey arrived home by six, and as they sat down together to eat dinner (“Pizza again, Mike?” “I know, I know. I’m planning to spend some time this weekend looking up recipes.”), Harvey gave Mike a long, considering look.

“I thought you might want to know, it worked.”

“It…what?”

“Your suggestion. _Mississippi Burning._ I got two of those entitled little assholes on tape, and the district attorney has withdrawn his objections to giving Danner a hearing. It’s on the docket for next week.”

Mike was busy suctioning the hot cheese out of his crust, and took a gulp of ice water to soothe his scalded tongue. “That’s great, Sir. Do you think he’ll be freed right away?”

“I hope so, although now Wolf is threatening to lengthen Danner's sentence if the judge does something inconceivable and rules against him.”

“Wow. No pressure there.”

“I had to practically strong arm Clifford into going through with it. He only has three years left on his sentence, and was leery of taking the risk. It's got him pretty on edge. Last week, he nearly took a swing at me.”

“Huh. Well, he obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with, if he ever had any doubts that you would win.”

Harvey froze, with a slice of pizza two inches from his mouth. “That’s…thank you, I guess. I did tell him it was you who gave me the idea to trick the real killer into confessing.”

Mike swallowed slowly. “You did? And how did you explain me?”

“I told him you were my intern.”

Mike stared at him, and then gave a harsh sounding laugh. “Okay. I guess that’s not too far from the truth.”

Harvey shrugged, and dished out more salad for both himself and Mike.

A little while later, after they had finished eating and Mike was cleaning up the minimal mess from dinner, Harvey leaned against the refrigerator, watching him work. “Why don’t you know how to drive a car?”

The question was so blunt, and out of the blue, that it caught Mike off guard. He finished wringing out the sponge, and set it in its place on the sink. He shrugged and turned to face Harvey, although he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “It’s…the city, you know. Parking is expensive, traffic sucks….”

“How did your parents die?”

It suddenly felt to Mike as if his lungs were caught in a vise. He breathed out slowly. “Since you’re even asking me that right now, I have to believe that you already know the answer.” Harvey didn’t say anything, so Mike sighed and said the words. “They died in a car accident. It was…a drunk driver.”

He’d cried all his tears for Nina and James Ross nearly fifteen years ago. What happened was well in the past, and shouldn't have the power to affect him now. The way Harvey was looking at him, though…the warm compassion in his eyes, and the understanding….Not even Grammy had offered him that. He’d loved her with every cell in his body, but she’d been more of a “suck it up and deal with it,” sort of woman. She hadn’t been wrong, exactly. Any strength he possessed now, he could claim thanks to her. But most of his tears had been shed alone, into his pillow at night, with one hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the sounds.

Now, the feelings he’d thought long buried welled up in him, threatening to spill from his eyes and down his cheeks. He breathed through it, and bit his lower lip to prevent it from quivering.

The last three words he’d spoken reverberated in the air between them. _A drunk driver._

He had to know. “When you were drinking, did…did you ever….?”

And now all the air in Harvey’s lungs seemed to leave in a rush. “No. God, no. Why do you think I’ve had a driver all these years?”

Mike nodded to acknowledge his words, not trusting his voice.

Harvey made a small movement, as if he wanted to move closer to Mike, but had thought better of it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry about your parents.”

Mike made a fending off motion with one hand. "Ancient history."

"Hmm,” said Harvey. He couldn't seem to stop staring at Mike. "I'll teach you."

Mike tensed and took a step back. “That’s not necessary,” he protested. “I’ve got my bike. There’s the subway, and I can always take a cab.”

“Excuses and justifications. Tell me the real reason. Why did you never learn to drive?”

Mike turned away, staring out into the living room. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

Shoulders slumping, Mike shook his head helplessly. “Grammy wanted to teach me. Trevor too. I always found some excuse. The truth is, I didn’t want to. I didn’t think I deserved to have something as normal as that.”

“Why not?”

Mike paced restlessly into the living room. “It’s not important.”

Harvey followed him, obviously not willing to let it go. "Is that why you never went to college? Because you didn't think you deserved it?"

"What? No. I don't know. And who said I never went to college?"

That caused Harvey to stop in his tracks. "Then why...? What are you doing delivering documents for a living? Based on everything I've observed, you're smart enough to be the one having those documents delivered, or to do pretty much anything else you wanted."

Mike did not want to talk about this. Things had been going so well. He'd gained a privilege, helped Harvey with a case, and hadn't wanted to get high even once this week. And now he was being asked to confess to one of the most embarrassingly bone-headed moves of his entire life. _Honesty, honesty, honesty,_ he lectured himself. "I was kicked out of Columbia."

A dense pause. "For what?"

Resigned to getting the entire story out, Mike dropped onto the couch, remembered himself, and slid to the floor, elbows on his knees, and head in his hands. "For cheating. I lost all of Trevor's money in a poker game, and he needed it back. So we sold test answers to a girl who turned out to be the dean's daughter. And then...I could have applied somewhere else, but he took Harvard away from me too."

"Who did?"

He could barely breathe as he forced the words out. "That dean. That fucker. I already had my acceptance letter, and he told them everything. So I just figured, fuck it, it was never in the cards anyway. Fate wants me to be the poor, struggling orphan boy? Fine. The hell with doing something meaningful with my life. I took a crap job, and I made a little extra taking tests for people who were too lazy, or too stupid to take it themselves. Until I turned out to be the stupid one when I nearly got caught."

He finally looked up at Harvey, knowing his eyes must be shiny with unshed tears. "That's right, Sir. You got yourself a real winner here. I even took the bar exam, on a dare. I passed it easily, and it felt good for about two seconds. But I still had to get up the next morning and earn a living. And I still had to explain to Grammy why she had to move away from her nice room and all the friends she'd made...."

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t stand to see the pity in Harvey's eyes. "So why should I learn to drive? I don't need a car. I'll never be able to afford one. After our arrangement is over I'll go back to Brooklyn and everything will go back to the way it was before." He snapped his mouth shut, feeling as if he had said too much.

The room was silent for several minutes, and then he heard the floor creak as Harvey walked towards him.

"You feel stuck," said Harvey, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Mike opened his eyes and watched Harvey sit on the couch, close enough that his leg touched Mike's shoulder.

"Kneel for me." His voice was gentle, and Mike hurried to obey, kneeling with his arms behind his back, gaze lowered. Harvey gave a hum of approval. "I think it's time to get started on step four. Can you tell me what it is?"

"We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves," Mike recited. He hadn't liked the sound of that the first time he read it, and he still didn't.

"So here's what I want you to do," said Harvey. "Using your journal, make an accounting of your good points, and your less admirable ones. Be as thorough as you possibly can. I want more than a list, I want examples. If you knocked some kid over at recess in third grade, write it down. If you, I don't know...."

"Killed a man in Reno just to watch him die?"

"Mike...." He gave a quick, sharp tug to Mike's hair.

"Ow. I apologize, Sir."

"I hope we can agree that inappropriate use of snark should go on the list, perhaps at the very top." He rubbed Mike's shoulder in soothing circles as he continued. "This will be a lengthy process. I can almost guarantee that things will surface that you'd rather keep buried. It's essential, though, for your recovery. I think you're ready for this. Just now, you told me some things about yourself that must have been difficult for you to share. I'm proud of you for that. Keep showing that kind of honesty, and you'll gain some valuable self-knowledge through this exercise."

"Did you have to do this with Jake?"

"You bet I did. It wasn't particularly pretty, either. I nearly tapped out half a dozen times, but every time, Jake was right there to help me through it."

Mike nodded slowly. The idea of putting all of his flaws and failures down on paper scared the crap out of him, but it's not like he hadn't seen this coming.   He also knew what came after this, and reviewed steps five through seven in his mind.

_We admitted to our higher power, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs._

_We were entirely ready to have our higher power remove all these defects of character._

_We humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings._

He shivered as he considered how, exactly, Harvey would remove all of those nasty defects and shortcomings. Harvey had started speaking again, and he forced himself to pay attention.

"On Saturday, we're going to get you a learner's permit and driver's manual."

"What? No. I mean, I'd rather not, Sir."

"Mike, if this is a hard limit for you, you need to say so. If not, we are going to move forward with it." He waited, giving Mike a chance to respond. "Well?"

Without realizing what he was doing, Mike rested a hand on Harvey's leg. With that contact, some of his anxiety receded. "Okay, I'm not going to lie to you. The whole idea makes me nervous. I'm not...I won't refuse, but you should know that I'm more than a little freaked out by this."

Harvey's hand covered his, and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, baby. I promise we'll take it slow. I won't push you any faster than I think you can go."

"I just hope you've got good insurance," Mike muttered, which got a chuckle out of Harvey.

"You'll be fine. Now, here is something else I want you to think about, which you might find more enjoyable. I am extremely pleased with your progress so far. Remind me to pay Jake large amounts of cash so he will never divulge what I nightmare I was during our first month together."

Mike made a mental note to harass Jake for information the next time he saw him.

"I didn't think we'd get here so soon, but I'm going to reward you for being such a good boy. I'm going to let you come this weekend. You get to choose how, but I'll decide when and where. So think about it, and give me your decision tomorrow after work." He reached down and ran a finger up the underside of Mike's hardening cock, and then teased the slit with his fingernail.

Mike hissed at the touch, and started madly reviewing scenarios in his head. On the deck with a dildo? Blow job in the private elevator? Professor Plum in the kitchen with a pipe? Except he didn't get to choose the location. Which felt like a trap.

"Don't overthink it." He left off tormenting Mike’s cock and gave his head a couple of scritches. "All right. Enough talking. Write in your journal for about half an hour. After that, I have some nipple clamps I want to try out on you."

Mike's eyes fluttered closed, and he nearly groaned. "You sure I have to wait until this weekend to get off? Sir."

"I'm sure that pushy subs that question their Doms don't get to come at all."

"Duly noted, Sir. Thank you. Although I feel it is my duty as your faithful, obedient sub to remind you that you have full use of me, whenever and however you like, and you don't even have to wait for the weekend."

Mike might have gone on longer, but Harvey stopped him with another painful tug to his hair. "Be quiet. I'd hate to see you talk your way out of all the goodwill I'm feeling at the moment. You've given me an idea, though. I have a brand new bit gag I've been saving for you, and you've just convinced me that tonight would be the perfect time to break it in. Is there anything else you would like to say before I go get it?"

 _What is a bit gag?_ This was the first and only thing that came to mind. Mike bent his neck, keeping his gaze on the floor near Harvey's feet. "No, Sir."

 

******

 

_I was born a poor, black child. The Jerk? No?_

_Seriously, though, how far back do you want me to go?_

_I guess I was a normal enough kid. Normal as in I never felt good enough, or as if I fit in. Everyone feels that way, right. RIGHT???_

_Have we talked about my freaky memory yet? My freaky memory says no, we haven't. My parents and my Grammy always told me it (the freaky memory) was a blessing, even though too often it's felt like the most diabolical of curses. Imagine remembering, quite literally, everything, in exact, excruciating detail. It's mostly a visual thing, but I also remember conversations, and insults, and appointments from twelve years ago, and how you smelled the first time I met you. (Good, by the way. You smelled good.)_

_Before they were crushed between a 1992 Ford Explorer and a cement retaining wall, my father was a pharmacist, and my mother gave piano lessons to some of the neighborhood kids -- and a few of the adults as well. It was weird, having all of those strangers parading into and out of our apartment. Some of them were nice to me, but I kept out of their way as much as I could, hiding in my bedroom – sometimes with a pillow jammed over my ears, because most of them couldn’t play for shit._

_For about a two month stretch, I was convinced Mom was doing Mr. Fliedermann, one of her students from downstairs. He always looked so sweaty and guilt-ridden when I ran into him in the hallway. In my nine year old mind, "doing" probably meant something like letting him see her naked tits. As it turned out, Mr. Fliedermann was more interested in doing me. I'll quickly add that nothing happened. This isn't some survivor's tale -- not that kind, anyway. I mean, yes, I saw his small, unattractive penis that one time, but Mom walked in on us before it progressed any further. I don't know what happened to him after that, except that he moved from the building, and I never saw him again._

_I had to go talk to a therapist a few times, but he must have decided I hadn't been unduly traumatized. Or maybe my folks just couldn't afford any further sessions. That actually seems more likely, now that I think about it. We never had a lot of extra money for things like new clothes, and trips, and cool toys, and doctor visits, and therapists. We weren't starving, but evidently they had racked up some huge credit card debt that Grammy got stuck dealing with after they died. So the austerity program continued on, even after they were gone._

_Uh…..I feel like I’m getting off track here. Moral inventory. What does that even mean? Is this a kind of Scales of Ma’at situation? Do I throw all of my transgressions on the scale and hope that they’re lighter than a feather? Fat chance of that happening._

_So, what’s the first bad thing I ever remember doing? I never knocked over another kid at recess, by the way. I was more likely to be the one who got knocked over. I used to piss off a lot of my classmates with my tendency to make perfect scores on all of my tests. Before it was pushed, tripped, kicked, punched and lugied out of me, I was proud of my scores. Ooh, ooh…pride. That’s a deadly sin, right? (Switching mythologies, here.)_

_Even though it took no effort on my part, up until I was maybe ten or eleven, I was ridiculously proud of my performance at school. I preened shamelessly under my teachers’ praise, and convinced myself that the bullies that despised me were lesser beings than me. At the same time, I kind of understood where they were coming from. They couldn’t allow a pencil-necked weirdo like me rise to the top of the elementary school food chain, and were merely restoring proper balance to the universe by bestowing countless wedgies and noogies on yours truly._

_Now that I think about it, it’s a wonder I didn’t end up as an evil super villain. Because I could totally rock that._

_Yeah, off track again. Well, you did say this would take a while._

_I guess my half hour is up. Here you come with the nipple clamps. Dare I admit that I’d been hoping you had some of those stashed away somewhere?_

_And do I hate the bit gag? Neigh._

_(Ack. That was terrible, wasn’t it?)_

_Damn it. If snark was a deadly sin, I’d be doomed to an eternity of torment._

******

“Watch my feet,” said Harvey. “Anticipate and adjust.”

He started walking, and once again Mike was slow to react. The leash attached to the tweezer nipple clamps tugged his tender flesh. Wincing, he shot forward too fast and nearly walked into Harvey’s back. Frustrated, he growled and bit down on the hard rubber bar of the bit gag. Harvey paused.

“It’s okay, Mike. Let’s try it again.”

Mike couldn’t understand how Harvey could be so patient. They’d been at this for nearly twenty minutes, and Mike remained clumsy and out of sync. He didn’t even understand why Harvey was so insistent on training him to walk on a leash. Certainly they didn’t need that at home, and Mike didn’t ever plan on setting foot inside _Payne_ again.

He sort of wished they could just concentrate on the clamps, and forget the leash. The black clamps Harvey had selected were positively wicked, sending sharp, hot bites of pain through him and straight to his cock, making him long for a tighter adjustment on the rubber tips. Plus, Mike loved the way they looked against his pale skin.

He sensed more than felt Harvey’s weight shift, and this time Mike moved almost without thinking, matching his stride to Harvey’s, and preventing the punishing tug of the leash on his abused nipples.

“That’s good,” Harvey praised. “That’s really good. Let’s take a couple of laps around the room.”

They made it around the outer perimeter of the living room three times before Harvey sped up, and Mike’s compensating stutter step to catch up didn’t come quick enough to avoid another jolt of pain. He groaned past the gag. When Harvey stopped abruptly, though, Mike did too. They hadn’t been moving all that fast, but he discovered that he was panting.

“That’s enough for tonight,” said Harvey. He unclipped the leash from the chain connecting the two clamps. “This is going to hurt a little,” was the only warning he gave before sliding the “o” away from the rubber tip to loosen and remove first one and then the other clamp. The surge of blood back into his nipples made Mike moan and shudder and grab for Harvey’s shoulders. When Harvey leaned in to slowly lick and suck on each side, soothing away the rush of pain, Mike shuddered again, and had to remind himself that the weekend – and his promised relief – wasn’t for another day and a half.

Harvey led Mike to the couch and made him lie down on his back while he went to the kitchen. He returned carrying a glass of ice water and two small cold packs.

Mike sat up a little, and Harvey handed him the glass of water, holding onto it for a moment to make sure Mike had a secure grasp. When Mike had drained half the glass, Harvey set it on the coffee table and slid in underneath Mike, so that he could lie with his head on Harvey’s thigh. Then he handed him the cold packs.

“Here. Use these. Just for a few minutes. They’ll help with any swelling.”

Mike hissed as the cold made contact with his still tender nipples.

“Good job with the leash,” said Harvey. “We’ll practice a little more tomorrow night, but you seem to have gotten the hang of it.” One finger toyed idly with the shell of Mike’s ear. “I know you’ll make me proud at _Payne_ on Saturday.”

Mike tensed. He rolled his head and shifted his eyes so he could see Harvey’s face. Was he serious? The immediate refusal he might have made was hampered by the bit gag he was currently drooling around. It aggravated him, yet at the same time it gave him time to reflect before spouting off with an angry retort.

Why, he wondered, would Harvey even want him back there? It had been such an ugly experience, and an ugly night overall. If Harvey needed another session with Jake, why did Mike need to be there at all?

He forced himself to relax, and to remember what his role was here. He’d ceded his decision-making power to Harvey. No one had ever said this was going to be easy. If he was being honest with himself, he was still embarrassed by the events of last Saturday, but maybe he could work with that. Humiliation was evidently a thing with him.

As Harvey petted his head, and he grew drowsy, he imagined himself back at _Payne_ , leashed and walking to heel behind Harvey. Perhaps people would recognize him, and remember how he’d looked, half-naked and on display. A surge of warm arousal coursed through him and he nearly groaned again. Maybe he could do it. There was no danger of running into Vincent again, according to Harvey. And if anyone even hinted at placing him back at the Docking Station, he would safeword in an instant.

Harvey pried the cold packs out of his hands, setting them out of the way, and then draped a soft blanket over Mike. He didn’t say anything, and seemed just as content as Mike to stay where he was for a time. Mike rolled onto his side, getting more comfortable. Harvey’s hands touched the back of his head, and the strap holding the bit gag fell away. Harvey pried the rubber bar from between his teeth, and used a corner of the blanket to dry his chin.

Mike’s journal had gone unread so far tonight, but now Harvey reached for it and opened it to the latest entry, while Mike drifted just on the edges of sleep.

After long minutes of peaceful silence, Harvey gave a rough grunt of what sounded like unwilling laughter. “Christ.”

“Mmmm?”

“That is the worst goddamn pun in the history of puns. Just terrible.”

 _Wha…? Oh. Right._ “Sorry, not sorry, Sir,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

Harvey smacked him smartly on the ass, causing Mike to smile.

“Up,” Harvey ordered. “You’ve drooled on my leg long enough. Time for bed.”

Mike struggled into a sitting position. “I wasn’t – ” He stopped himself from saying more. It was barely past nine, and he felt exhausted. He stood, but before he could stagger off in the direction of his bedroom, Harvey grabbed his arm.

“You made a good start in your journal. Thanks for including the background information. I’m sure it will help understand how you might react in some situations. For the next week, I want you to try to spend at least an hour adding to your inventory. If you ever start to become overwhelmed by the feelings that begin to surface, you let me know right away. All right?”

“Sure,” said Mike, although he couldn’t see how writing down a few memories and reflections could be all that upsetting. He felt just fine. Harvey was giving him an odd look, so Mike raised one eyebrow in inquiry.

“The memory thing,” said Harvey. “That’s real?”

“Yes.”

“And you really passed the bar exam?”

Mike shifted from one foot to the other. “Not under my real name, but yes.” Harvey continued to study him closely. “Anything else, Sir?”

Harvey let go of him. “No. Nothing else. Go get some sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Chapter contains a brief allusion to a an unsuccessful molestation attempt of underage Mike by the neighborhood pedophile. Unsuccessful.
> 
> And thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Mike frowned down at the clothing laid out on his bed. It was Saturday night, and Harvey had once again selected his outfit for their AA meeting and visit to the club. The slim, burgundy jeans weren’t the problem. Neither was the gray, cashmere v-neck sweater. Harvey had great fashion sense. That was indisputable. Mike knew, however, that he wouldn’t be wearing these clothes once they were inside _Payne._

He’d already checked inside the zippered suede pouch next to the jeans, and discovered that he was in charge of carrying the nipple clamps and slender silver connecting chain, the leash, and the gag. None of that bothered him. It was the final article on the bed that had him balking.

He picked up the pink satin panties and dangled them from one finger. _Seriously?_ At least they weren’t transparent, and looked as if they would provide decent enough coverage. He closed his eyes and imagined himself a few hours from now, dressed only in the panties, gagged and being led on a leash attached to the clamps. He burned just from the thought of it, and wondered if he should be angry at Harvey for doubling down on his humiliation kink, or turned on by what the night had in store for him.

His dick knew where it stood on the matter. He gave it a few sympathetic strokes, and then stepped into the panties and pulled them on, hissing at the luxurious slide of them as they settled into place. They felt cool and smooth against his partial erection. He turned around to view them from the back, and had to admit they clung nicely to his buttocks. He flexed his ass muscles a few times, and rolled his eyes at the picture he presented. Maybe if they weren’t so… _pink_.

He carefully adjusted his dick, so it sat inside the panties, instead of peeking out over the top. As he finished dressing, he remembered how he had gotten himself into this.

 

**Friday evening**

“Decision time. I’m giving you exactly sixty seconds to tell me how you would like to get off this weekend.” Harvey actually had his phone out, with the timer queued up and ready. “Go,” he said, tapping the screen.

“Uh, okay. I’d like to come with you inside me.” Harvey continued to stare at him expectantly. “You want more? Oh, shit, this isn’t one of those wish genie things, or like that evil monkey paw, where I end up with something completely different from what I want and it’s awful…is it? Okay. Specifics. I want your dick in my ass, with me on my knees and, and….”

“Ten seconds.”

“And your hand on me. On my dick. And I’m gagged and restrained and, and – ”

“Time.”

Mike stuttered to a stop. He reviewed his own words in his mind, reasonably satisfied that he’d covered all possible loopholes and contingencies.

“Good,” said Harvey. “I shall make it so.”

“Really? Picard? I would have guessed Kirk. Although I guess that would make me Jean-Luc because – ”

“Hush. Now I’m going to tell you my particulars.”

_Uh oh,_ thought Mike. _Here comes the trap._

“I told you that I would dictate the time and place. The time is tomorrow night, and the place is one of the semi-private rooms upstairs at _Payne._ ”

Mike’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “With an audience?” he croaked out. His breath felt constricted all of a sudden, and his body went cold and then too warm in quick, confusing succession. “O-okay.”

“Further, I’m going to take the opportunity to introduce you to some serious edge play. I plan to keep you hard and aching for at least an hour, probably longer. I’ll bring you right to the edge and pull you back dozens of times before you’re allowed your release. And I’ll agree to the gag, but we’ll use the bit, both so that I can hear your reactions, and so that if you need to safeword, you’ll be able to get it out, if somewhat indistinctly. I doubt you'll want to, though. And you won’t have a blindfold. I want you to see me, and see that we’re not alone, and that I’ve put you on display for the enjoyment of anyone and everyone who wants to watch.” He paused, giving Mike a chance to absorb all that he’d just said. “Do you have any questions, or any objections?”

Mike licked his lips. “It will be just you? Only you that touches me?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll be there the whole time? You won’t leave me alone?”

“Of course.”

Mike thought about it, about what it would be like to be vulnerable and exposed, his every movement and reaction watched with avid interest by an unknown number of strangers. Rather than being repelled or frightened, he found that the idea excited him. He still trusted Harvey to look after him, to keep him safe, and to give him what he’d asked for.

“Then, no. I don’t have any objections.”

“Thank you. Oh, by the way, I almost forgot to tell you what you’ll be wearing.”

_Double uh oh._ He waited. Harvey said nothing, but he wore a wicked smile.

“Nothing?” Mike finally ventured.

“During, sure. Before and after? No. But I’ve just decided to let it be a surprise.”

 

******

 

Now, Saturday night, Mike found the slick rub of satin against his dick both pleasurable and maddening. He could barely keep his mind on what was happening at the meeting. Jake was not present this time, but Harvey was more than holding his own in the distraction department, giving teasing touches to Mike’s neck, and ear and thigh.

They were in the back row, so the risk of being observed was minimal. Harvey’s hand, mostly hidden under Mike’s sweater and leather jacket, was partway down the back of his jeans, middle finger rubbing Mike’s ass crack through the pink satin.

He had started gathering some of the satin together in his hand, inexorably tightening the material in front, so it pressed snugly against Mike’s dick.

“Mike,” said a vaguely familiar, too loud voice, which was definitely not Harvey’s. “Dude, I didn’t know you came to this meeting.”

David, the annoying young man from Mike’s NA meeting, slid past Harvey and Mike and into the seat on Mike’s right.

“Why would you?” Mike whispered back, not bothering to hide his irritation.

David leaned back in his chair and eyed Harvey with interest. Harvey unhurriedly removed his hand from Mike’s pants.

“Who’s your Daddy?” David asked, and broke into giggles at his own stupid joke, loud enough that several people turned around to look at them. Mike glared at him. Beside him, he could sense Harvey scrutinizing the newcomer. Mike was certain that Harvey could see, just as he had, that David was high on something.

“Harvey, David. David, Harvey.” Mike made the introductions in a brusque whisper, earning a stern look from Harvey and a shoulder bump from David. Mike turned fully toward Harvey, so David couldn’t see his face, and rolled his eyes as eloquently as he could. Harvey’s expression remained skeptical, and Mike was seized with the urge to punch David in the face. He crossed his arms and slouched down in his chair, wishing the meeting would just end already. Unfortunately, they were only fifteen minutes into it.

The current speaker finished up, and Mike’s mouth automatically formed the words along with the rest of the group: _Thank you, Kathy._ A short silence fell as they waited for the next person to venture up to the front of the room.

Harvey placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder and leaned in to murmur, “Go on up.”

“Right after you,” Mike snapped back. Harvey’s fingers tightened painfully on his shoulder, and Mike lowered his head. “Sorry, Sir.” As he stood and edged past Harvey to walk to the podium, David’s mocking snicker followed him.

 

******

 

“I told you about him.” They were in Harvey’s car of the week, on the way to _Payne._ Mike had been half afraid that Harvey would put him behind the wheel tonight, but apparently that nerve-wracking event would wait until tomorrow. “He was at the first Wednesday meeting I went to.”

“And how did he find you tonight?”

Mike couldn’t even believe they were having this conversation. “How should I know? It may be a big city, but both meetings are in the same neighborhood. It had to have been a coincidence."

Harvey nodded, his expression lightening a little. "I believe you, but if he keeps fixating on you, he could become a problem. He was high as a kite tonight."

"I know."

"If he continues to harass you, I want you to let me know. There are plenty of other meetings nearby. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, are you prepared for tonight?"

Mike nodded, trying not blush as he remembered the steps Harvey had required of him to make himself clean inside and out for their upcoming scene.

"I've reserved the room for eleven, so we'll have a little time to relax beforehand. Any last minute doubts or concerns?"

Mike thought that over. "Just nervous, in general. What if I can't hold back? What if I shoot before you want me to? Are you going to punish me right there, in front of everyone?" The idea should have appalled him, but it didn't. Not even a little bit. Quite the opposite, in fact. He shifted in his seat.

But, "No," said Harvey. "Not tonight. Another time I may choose to test your control in ways that will likely make you despise me, with appropriate consequences for failure. Tonight is a reward for you. You won't have to do anything except submit, and feel. I'll be in complete charge of you and your orgasm tonight. It will be my job to watch you, gauge your reactions, and keep you right on the razor-thin edge for as long as I can. You may experience some rough moments, but I promise you that the ultimate reward will be worth it."

"Will Jake be there tonight?"

"I'm not sure. He's been out of town for most of the week."

"What does he do for a living? Is he a lawyer too?"

Harvey gave an amused grunt at that. "God, no. He despises attorneys. He's an artist, actually. A sculptor. He's been working on an installation in Toronto, getting ready for an exhibit next month."

That surprised Mike, although he wasn't sure why. "Not a struggling artist, I take it." Harvey didn't bother to reply to that. "If he's been gone all week," Mike mused, "he probably wants to spend time with Lucy."

"Lucy? Oh, you mean the sub he scened with. As far as I know, that's not a permanent arrangement. Jake has been single for a while now. He enjoys variety." Harvey gave Mike a shrewd look before turning his attention back to the road. "You seem pretty interested in him. Got a little crush?"

"What? No. I just...." He trailed off, not sure how to complete that sentence. If he was fascinated by Jake at all, it had more to do with curiosity about Harvey's stint as his sub.

"It's all right, Mike." Harvey sounded completely unconcerned. "After our six months are up, you'll probably be looking for new experiences. Jake has expressed an interest in you, and you could do a lot worse than him."

_Yeah, like Vincent,_ flashed through his mind, but mostly he was thinking that he could also do better, namely with Harvey. It stung more than a little that Harvey could be so nonchalant in his mention of the end of their time together. As a result, his retort was sharper than he intended. "Could I? And what makes you think we'd be a good match? Maybe I'd do better as a Dom, like you."

Harvey laughed a bit too loudly at the suggestion. "You?" He gave Mike a sideways glance, and gentled his tone when he got a look at the scowl on Mike's face. "Sweetheart, you're the most natural submissive I've ever run across in my life."

"Gee, thanks," said Mike, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's not a put down. It's a fact. It's in your nature. It's who you are. And when you let go and truly submit, it's breathtakingly beautiful."

Mike wasn't convinced. "Maybe. But it makes me weak."

"No. No it doesn't. I've been in your place, Mike, and I know firsthand how much strength it takes to give your will over to another person, to bend your knees and let someone else take the reins."

Mike made a noncommittal sound and subsided into silence. He didn't want to think that far into the future right now. Less than an hour into the future was close enough.

 

******

 

Harvey accompanied Mike into the changing room this time, claiming the padded bench while Mike removed pants and sweater and shoes. He handed the suede pouch to Harvey, and stood still while his nipples were pinched into hard nubs, the clamps were set in place, the leash attached to the connecting chain, the rubber bar of the bit gag inserted into his mouth and the leather strap buckled behind his head. Harvey took several moments just to look at Mike, nodding his head in obvious approval. Still seated, he had Mike stand directly in front of him while he grasped him through the pink satin and stroked until Mike’s cock stood at attention, its outline clearly visible through the fabric.

Seemingly satisfied with the picture Mike presented, he handed him his folded up clothes, shoes on top, and they went out to leave them at the front desk.

With his first steps into the main room came a swirl of confusing emotions. Embarrassment so acute it was almost painful warred with hot arousal and the urge to drop to the floor and crawl behind Harvey on his hands and knees. He had to direct nearly his full concentration to following Harvey’s lead, not getting too close, or falling too far behind. He couldn’t resist a glance over at the Docking Station as they passed the bar. He had a brief impression of three forms kneeling at the railing before he forced his attention back to Harvey, which was a good thing, because his Dom chose that moment to come to an abrupt halt.

Mike had half a second to recognize the club’s owner, Lester Payne, again in an expensive looking dark grey suit and red tie, before Harvey gave Mike a subtle signal with one hand. With as much grace as he could muster, Mike slid to his knees, arranging himself the way he knew Harvey preferred, with gaze lowered and wrists crossed behind his back.

“It’s good to see you, Harvey,” Payne was saying. He glanced down at Mike. “May I speak to your boy?”

“Of course.”

Payne surprised Mike by dropping to a crouch in front of him. This close, Mike could see what a handsome man he was, with slicked back silver hair, icy grey eyes, and a not-quite-dimple in one cheek when he talked.

“Mike, is it?”

Mike looked to Harvey, who said, “It’s all right, Mike.”

So Mike nodded.

“Well, Mike, first of all, let me say that you look stunning this evening. Your room upstairs will be ready in a few minutes. Frankly, I find myself a little jealous of Harvey. And I’m glad of the opportunity to tell you face to face how sorry I am for what happened last weekend. That sort of unpleasantness is not the norm in my club. Harvey, myself, and the rest of the Board have put new rules in place which we hope will prevent a repeat of what happened to you.”

Mike cut his gaze back to Harvey. His surprise must have shown on his face, because Payne chuckled.

“You didn’t know? Harvey has been a generous investor, and as such he has a say in how we run things here.”

It made sense, now that Mike thought about. Harvey seemed to have money to burn. That must have been the meeting he’d gone to last Sunday morning.

Payne straightened up in one smooth movement, reached over as if to pat Mike on the head, but pulled his hand back at the last moment when Mike gave an involuntary flinch.

“My apologies,” he said to Harvey, his expression filled with chagrin. “Here I am talking about rules, and I nearly violate one myself. He reminds me too much of Joshua.”

“No apology necessary,” Harvey assured him. “He normally responds well to touch, but I think he’s nervous to be back here.”

“Of course. That’s completely understandable.” Payne smiled down at Mike, dimple digging a half-crescent in his cheek. “Enjoy yourself tonight, Mike. I’ll be sure to stop by later to watch.”

The lighting was dim enough to conceal Mike’s blush, but he could feel it spread hotly through his body.

Harvey watched Payne disappear into the crowd, and then nodded down at Mike. “Up,” he ordered, and Mike rose to follow him to a table where they could wait for the room upstairs to be made ready for them.

 

Mike wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting – maybe for Harvey to get him situated and ready before twitching aside a heavy curtain like a magician, to reveal him to a waiting audience. Instead, once they were in the room, everything they did was acted out in front of a crowd that seemed to grow with every passing minute.

First, Harvey had him stand with his hands behind his head, elbows out, while he prowled around him, just looking. He tugged off the nipple clamps with a suddenness that had Mike groaning into the bit gag. He managed to remain in position, but it was a near thing. Next, Harvey focused his attentions on Mike’s panties, standing behind him while rubbing his bottom through them, and murmuring, for Mike’s ears only, what a pretty, dirty boy he was, until his erection tented the front of the panties. Harvey pulled the waistband down, positioning it underneath Mike’s cock, and teased him with one finger until Mike’s knees began to shake.

Moving in front of Mike, Harvey lowered himself to his knees and used his tongue to leisurely wet every inch of Mike’s erect cock. Then he blew on it, tiny gusts of air that threatened to drive Mike crazy. He pulled the panties down to Mike’s knees and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, licking and sucking it like a lollipop. Mike was biting down hard on the rubber bit by the time Harvey let him fall from between his lips and rose back to his feet.

Leaving the panties where they were for the moment, he made Mike follow him just like that, forcing him to move in short, awkward steps, until they reached the padded piece of leather and chrome furniture which was the showcase of the room. Finally, he pulled the panties down and off of Mike, and set them aside.

Mike had stipulated that he would like to come on his hands and knees, but that evidently was to occur later. For now, once Harvey had him arranged to his liking, he found himself strapped down on his back, splayed wide with his legs up and secured in stirrups, his arms stretched over his head and buckled in place, and his ass hanging out over empty air. A glance toward the room’s entrance showed it clogged with bodies. Other forms leaned against the inside walls, drinks in hand. He couldn’t make out their faces, as they were in darkness. The light in the room was focused squarely on him, where he lay strapped in and ready for Harvey’s attentions.

Once again, Harvey took a few minutes to just walk around him, checking his bindings, and the angle of his legs and arms. “Nod once if your color is green.”

Mike nodded.

Harvey held up what Mike recognized as a medium sized butt plug. “Relax for me while I put this inside you. When I’m ready to fuck you, I want you prepared to take me.”

Harvey moved between his legs. From his position, Mike could see the top of his head, but not his hands. An exploratory finger, cold with lube, massaged his entrance, and then pushed inside. He squirmed, to the limited extent his bonds allowed. “Keep still,” Harvey murmured. “I’m in control here, not you. You’ll take what I choose to give you. Now take a deep breath, hold it. And let it out. Good boy. Keep breathing.”

The lubed butt plug prodded his entrance and pushed inside of him. He breathed in and out, and searched for the stillness he’d found inside himself a few times in the past two weeks. When Harvey held Mike’s cock in his slippery grasp, thumb abrading the head in small, subtle movements, Mike looked up and met his gaze. As their silent audience moved and shifted at the edges of his vision, Harvey began stroking him, slow and rhythmic, and something seemed to settle into place inside of Mike. This was where he was supposed to be. This is what he was. He was Harvey’s boy.

He gave his Dom a dreamy smile, and the ink-black eyes that regarded him filled with some dark, unreadable emotion. Fingernails scratched lightly up the underside of his cock and teased his slit, causing Mike to arch slightly, eyes fluttering with the urge to close them. But, “Eyes on me,” Harvey instructed patiently, and Mike forced his heavy lids open again.

“Do not come yet,” said Harvey, which was unnecessary, thought Mike dimly. Then Harvey reached between his legs and the butt plug began to vibrate.

Taken by surprise, Mike gave a violent twitch and groaned into his gag. He could feel perspiration beading at his temples and on his chest as he jerked against his bonds. His torso bowed upwards, straining against the strap across his chest. As the plug vibrated against his prostate, Harvey played with his cock, stroking it a few times before holding onto the base and licking firmly, targeting the sensitive spot just underneath the head. Mike could feel his balls tighten, orgasm edging dangerously close, and tears leaked from the side of his eyes with the effort of holding it at bay.

Harvey switched off the vibrator, and removed his hand from Mike’s cock, giving him the chance to calm down. He used a hand towel to wipe the sweat from Mike’s face, leaning in close to his ear and murmuring lowly, “You’re so beautiful right now. They can’t look away. All those people, right there, watching every twitch and grimace you make, every one of them is in complete awe of you right now.” He kissed Mike’s temple and stroked his damp bangs back off his brow. “We’ve only just started. You might think you can’t last any longer, but you can. You can and you will. You’re going to take it all for me, because that’s what I’ve asked you to do. I’m here. I’ve got you, and all you have to do is give it up for me.”

_Yesss_ , whispered some deeply buried voice inside Mike, some secret longing that he’d never known he had. He melted back onto the table, lax and pliant, and let Harvey take charge of him.

 

Time stretched and contracted and blurred together for Mike. His ache – his _need_ – ebbed and flowed with Harvey’s whims. One moment, he was right at the precipice, right at the place where he could almost feel his release rushing in on him, where just the smallest nudge could have him flying out into space, only to have Harvey pull away, or wrap his fingers around the base his cock, to prevent him from coming.

Eventually, the sharp urgency of need fell away, and Mike existed in a soft, shadowy world with only himself and Harvey. Harvey led and he followed. Harvey permitted, and Mike accepted. With eyelids heavy and drooping, still he tracked every movement and gesture and expression of his Dom.

_My Master,_ he corrected hazily, and let the thought inhabit him. It felt right, sounded right. He watched his Master touch him, admired the gleam of light on bare shoulders sheened with sweat, worshiped the clever fingers that trailed up his inner thigh and wedged ingeniously inside of him, shifting the butt plug to deliciously torture his prostate.

He yearned to tell Harvey how he felt, to confess to his abject worship, but could only manage a clumsy, garbled noise as he drooled around the gag. Harvey stroked his head, his own face close to Mike’s now, eyes dark and concerned, mouth moving, but making as little sense as Mike had. Mike tried to give him a reassuring smile. The gag thwarted him again, and a strangled sob emerged instead.

The slight pressure at the back of his head eased, and elegant fingers pried the bit from between his teeth. A bottle of water materialized, and he drank deeply, even as his eyes searched his Master’s face anxiously. The water was set aside.

“It’s time,” his Master decreed. “I’m going to unfasten you and take you over to the bed in the corner.” He held Mike’s face between his strong hands and studied him. “Are you still with me? What’s your word?”

Mike swallowed and licked his lips. “It’s green, Master. I’m green. Always green for you.”

Harvey made an abrupt movement which Mike couldn’t decipher, and which gave him a quick spike of worry, but his words remained soft and comforting. “Thank you. So good for me.”

Once Mike was freed from the table, Harvey helped him over to the bed, having to take most of his weight, since Mike’s limbs didn’t seem to want to work properly. He gazed down at Mike where he sprawled, his expression almost regretful.

“On your hands and knees,” he ordered, and then helped Mike turned over and position himself. Cuffs already hung from the wall at the head of the bed.

Mike had only the vaguest recollection that this is what he’d asked for, as Harvey fastened the cuffs around his wrists. He relaxed into his restraints, luxuriating in the strain and the stretch of his back and shoulders. He was sorry now that he couldn’t see his Master’s face, or watch him as he undressed. He could hear him, though, could hear the metallic slither of his zipper, the whisper and rustle of cloth as his pants hit the floor.

Mike arched his back and almost purred with pleasure when the bed dipped behind him and Harvey’s naked body snugged up against him, chest against his back, thighs bracketing his own.

“Baby, you feel so good. You were so good for me tonight. I’m going to give you what you want, but – ”

Mike tensed at that “but.”

“But I’d rather leave the gag off. Would that be all right with you?”

And now Mike was confused. Why was Harvey asking him? He was Harvey’s to command.

“Yes, Master,” he replied, putting a slight question in his soft words.

By way of response, Harvey worked the plug out of him. There was a quiet crackle which Mike interpreted as a condom wrapper being torn open and removed, and seconds later, finally – _finally_ – Harvey thrust into him, and Mike moaned in pure relief.

“That’s it. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.” Harvey began a slow, rocking slide, in and out, and Mike sighed and groaned, and grunted as Harvey sped up, thrusting forcefully, with one arm around Mike’s chest, and the other hand grasping his hair, pulling his head back. A few minutes passed, with Harvey fucking into him with increasing force, and Mike moaning his approval.

“You have my permission to come.” Although Harvey was slightly out of breath by now, the words were spoken almost conversationally. He let go of Mike’s hair and wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him in counterpoint to his thrusts. “Scream for me,” he whispered in Mike’s ear.

“Ah, god,” Mike grated. He yanked down on the cuffs, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened his mouth wide as his orgasm ripped through him like a tsunami. For long seconds, no sounds made it past his locked up vocal cords. Then something inside him let go, and a high-pitched keening ripped loose, building into a full-throated roar.

He lost himself then, forgot who he was and where he was. Harvey continued pumping into him, and must have reached his own climax, but Mike’s moorings had broken free, and he was adrift, flying up in the stratosphere, or perhaps somewhere into the next galaxy over.

He was gone. Broke the lease and left the country. If the sky had fallen in at the moment, he would have neither known nor cared.

 

******

 

Darkness cocooned him, and a warm weight anchored him. Mike dragged his eyes open, half-expecting a sound like a rusty door hinge to accompany the herculean effort. He felt wrung out and limp as a wet dish rag. Someone’s arm draped across his waist, pinning him down. He shifted, and Harvey – of course it was Harvey – tightened his hold.

“Are you back?” Harvey whispered against the side of Mike’s face.

Mike blinked lazily and lifted his head. He could just barely make out the room they were in, saw the table with the stirrups and the straps. _Payne,_ his cloudy thoughts supplied. They were alone now, the door to the room closed to provide them with privacy, and the lights turned down.

“Mike?”

“Yes, Mas – ” He froze as he recalled his earlier….what? What did one even call that? Adoration? Ecstatic worship? He’d come a little unglued, lost his head in the insanity of the moment. “Yes, Sir,” he finished weakly, and could feel the tension in Harvey’s arm, as if he was remembering the same thing.

“That’s good.”

Mike felt suddenly as if he should apologize, or explain himself. “Sir, I – ”

“Ssh. It’s all right. We’ll talk about it later. Right now, lie still and be quiet. We have the room for as long as we need it.”

Mike subsided, relaxing into the mattress, and Harvey pulled a blanket over them. Mike could hear him breathing, feel the warm wisps of air against his neck and ear. Part of him already wanted to freak out about what had happened during their scene, about the places he had gone to, and to worry that he was getting in too deep. It felt so fucking good, though, lying here with Harvey.

The problem was, he could get used to this.

The problem…the real, undeniable, thorny problem was that he could become addicted to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week...It's almost like I don't have a life or something! Not sure I can manage that again, but will certainly try my best to keep up with at least one per week.
> 
> (Side note: Damn you, 4x15! Damn you to hell!!)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it still the weekend? What??? Welp, missed my target by a day.
> 
> Thanks for all the nice comments I received after the last chapter!

_I might have lost myself tonight. What was that? I mean, what happened? What is wrong with me?_

_***_

_I apologize...I think._

_Shit. I can't write about any of this right now._

 

_******_

 

It was Sunday morning. Mike wasn't positive, but he thought they were somewhere in New Jersey.   After driving them to his car club, Harvey had exchanged one sleek, low slung sports car for another, and they hit the freeway for a trip that had taken nearly two hours. The car stereo filled the silence, which was fine with Mike. He didn't feel like talking, particularly not about the previous night, and Harvey seemed to be of the same mind, at least for now.

No words, other than the ritual question and response, had been exchanged during that morning's discipline session -- which had consisted of the minimum five swats. Breakfast had also passed in silence. Even though no words were spoken, however, Mike's thoughts remained focused on what had happened at _Payne_ , and remained there for the entire drive.

He'd opened himself up to Harvey, and revealed things he hadn't even known resided inside himself. His walls didn’t just come down, they had been obliterated. It had been...amazing. Transcendent. Perfect.

Except....

Now, half a day later, he was tormented with confusing waves of shame and regret that washed through him, receded, and returned stronger than ever. What kind of person was he that he could fall so completely under another man's influence? Harvey had suggested that this made him strong, not weak, but that seemed backwards to him.

How, he wondered, would this affect his sobriety? Was he giving up one set of addictions, only to become addicted to Harvey, and what he could give him?

So much of what had happened with Harvey had felt like too much, too soon, but they'd both taken it in stride, and it had seemed to work. Now, though....

Mike had named Harvey "Master." That seemed important. It seemed like a development which would be significant enough to at least merit a comment, but Harvey appeared prepared to pretend as if it had never happened.

Had he overstepped the bounds of their arrangement? Part of Mike wished he could take it back. That was a pointless wish, though, since the word -- and the feelings that had prompted it -- had not been pre-meditated in the least. Everything had flowed from the experience, as unfettered as a formerly blocked river freed with dynamite, and equally as impossible to hold back.

Harvey's reluctance to speak about it probably told Mike all he needed to know about Harvey's feelings on the matter. Mike had gone too far, too fast, and this time, Harvey had not been right there with him.

As the miles fell away, and one bluesy jazz number dissolved into the next, Mike resolved to back up, cool it down, and be more careful about what came out of his mouth.

How he would manage that, while simultaneously giving Harvey the complete obedience and honesty he demanded, he had no clue at the moment. He would have to figure it out, because he couldn't risk messing up and having Harvey decide to cut him loose before their time was up.

 

Harvey guided the car off the freeway, and into an expansive, nearly empty parking lot which surrounded a four story office building made primarily of dark-colored glass. The sign on the way in read, "McKernan Motors." Mike assumed that Harvey had brought him here so he could give him his first driving lesson on the acres of empty asphalt, free from the distractions of traffic. Once they'd parked in one of the visitor spots, however, instead of switching seats with him, Harvey got out, keys in hand, and headed towards the front door of the building. With no real choice, Mike got out and followed him. Did they need to get permission to be on the property first?

Harvey depressed a buzzer set in the wall next to the door. Several seconds later, an abrupt voice came over the intercom. "Barone."

"It's Harvey. Is now a good time?"

"Be right there."

Harvey did not deign to enlighten Mike as to what was happening, so he stood quietly, half a step behind him at his right shoulder.   A shadowy form appeared on the other side of the door, unlocked it, and pushed it wide. An older man with close-cropped grey hair, a pleasant face, and hard eyes ushered them inside.

"You must be Mike," he said, wiping his own hands with a grease-stained rag before extending one for Mike to shake. "I'm Dom."

Mike froze, not understanding, but Harvey quickly cleared up his confusion.

"This is Dominic Barone, CEO of McKernan Motors, a client of mine."

Barone gave a cynical sounding grunt. "I'm still not used to the new title. I'd rather be getting my hands dirty every day, and not just on the weekends. Come on. The simulator's this way."

Now Mike got it. A regular, white-knuckled driving lesson wasn't good enough for Harvey, or by extension, for Mike. No, Harvey had to contact the professionals, call in a favor, and get time on their driving simulator.

State-of-the-art driving simulator, he corrected himself, as they entered an enormous room containing what looked like a half-dome covering a cut-open motor vehicle sitting on a track that bisected the room, surrounded by a myriad of wires and cables and sensors. Barone led them to the dome structure, which had a door that opened on what would be the driver's side.

"Get in and get comfortable," Barone instructed Mike. "Don't forget to fasten the seatbelt. You can ignore all the sensor hookups on the armrests. Harvey will be in the control booth. Up there." He pointed to a spot above the half-wall that ran around the outside of the room. "The test unit and the booth are both wired for sound, so you'll be able to talk to one another without headsets. I hear this is your first time behind the wheel. Just listen to Harvey's instructions. Everything you do in there will look and feel authentic, but the beauty of it is that you can't hurt yourself, or one of Harvey's fancy rent-a-cars."

Mike climbed into the driver's seat, buckled the seatbelt across his body, and tried not to panic when Barone closed the door, shutting him in. With an effort, he pushed down the claustrophobia that threatened to overwhelm him. Unlike an actual car, the simulator had no windows. A screen directly in front of Mike showed a mocked up street view, currently unmoving. What little headroom the tight space afforded was hedged in with more wires and cables. He could see more wires connected to the steering wheel and the three foot pedals.

"You settled in?" came a disembodied voice which Mike recognized as Barone's.

"Yes? Can, uh, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Mike. We can hear you."

"Try not to breathe so loudly," interjected Harvey.

"Sorry. I'm a little nervous here." Mike placed his hands on the steering wheel, and then moved it experimentally from side to side. The picture on the screen wavered and erupted in static at the edges. "Whoops."

He could hear Harvey and Barone conversing in low voices as the CEO filled Harvey in on how the simulator worked. Finally, Barone addressed Mike again.

"To keep things simple, I've disabled the physical forward movement along the track, but the view on the screen will still give you the sensation of moving through space. I'm going to get back to what I was working on, and let you and Harvey get the feel of things. Harvey, if you need anything, I'm just down the hall. Have fun, Mike."

"Thank you." He waited for Harvey to tell him what to do.

"Okay, Mike, you've got three pedals: from left to right, they are the clutch, the brake, and the accelerator."

 

******

 

The buzzer sounded, and the screen in front of Mike began blinking red, indicating that he'd stalled the fake car yet again. That made twelve straight times.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"You're still letting up on the clutch too quickly. You've got to ease up on it. Try it again."

Mike moved the fake gearshift back to neutral, wishing that he could fake accelerate so that he could fake crash into a fake brick wall.

He breathed out slowly and started the process again, depressing the accelerator while easing up on the clutch, as Harvey had been calmly instructing him for the past half hour.

_Bzzzztttt_ , went the buzzer.

Mike dropped his head to rest it against the steering wheel. "I can't fucking do this. I want to go home."

"Breathe," Harvey ordered. "Calm down. You can do this."

Mike tried to believe him, but his abysmal performance thus far said otherwise.

"Let's try something else," said Harvey.

"Great idea." Mike unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

"Stay where you are." Harvey sounded infuriatingly relaxed, which didn't seem fair to Mike. "Close your eyes. Now visualize a box of salt."

"A box of -- _what?_ "

"Salt. The big box of kosher salt you said you had to have because that's what Rachel Ray uses."

Mike couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped him. "All right. I'm thinking of a big box of salt. And now I'm swallowing it all, making myself sick so I can end this fiasco."

"You're not swallowing the salt. Just try this, okay? You've got this box of salt, and the entire lid is open. Gone. But the dish you want to season only needs a little sprinkle. So what do you do?"

"I reach in and grab a pinch."

He heard Harvey sigh. "Say you can't do that. Say you have to hold the box over your amazing dish and tip it to pour out just enough salt to make it taste perfect."

"Okay."

"How did you do it?"

"Um. I tipped the box and -- "

"How did you prevent an avalanche of salt from ruining your food?"

"I... Jesus, I don't know. I used control, and smaller, more subtle movements."

"Control. That's it exactly. Now keep that image in mind, and engage the clutch without stalling."

_Salt. Right. Whatever_. Mike slumped in his seat, calculating the possible consequences of opening the door and making a break for freedom.

"Mike? It wasn't a suggestion. Do as I told you. Start the car. _Now._ "

With no small amount of bad temper, but responding to Harvey's steely voice, Mike repeated the same routine they had been through a dozen times already, this time doing as Harvey had asked and visualizing the box of salt. It worked like a charm, and the screen showed him moving forward finally.

"Good," Harvey praised. "Get your speed up a little, and now let's shift up to second. No, no, the gear shift goes straight down from first to second. Foot off the accelerator, engage the clutch, and now shift. This should go a little easier...good! That's it. Watch where you're going, though. You're about to drive up onto the sidewalk. Ooh. That's going to leave a dent. Straighten it out. Great. Now accelerate smoothly and shift into third -- that's up and to the right."

Mike listened carefully to all of Harvey's instructions, and was amazed to discover that he was doing it. He was actually driving. Fake driving.

The simulator program had him in a city. He spotted a yellow traffic light up ahead. Not wishing to stop and then start the whole frustrating routine all over again he jammed his foot on the accelerator, watching the rpm's inch higher and then spike, but he made it through the light and slowed back down to thirty.

"You just got your first ticket," came Harvey's dry, amused voice.

"No cop can catch me. The Fast and the Slightly Peeved."

"Don't be peeved, be proud. Now pull over to the curb so we can start again."

Mike was proud. He only took out two trees and a squirrel bringing the car to a stop.

 

******

 

After Mike had mastered basic shifting and basic not crashing, he and Harvey found and thanked Dominic Barone, and then left the building. On the way to the car, Harvey tossed Mike the keys. He halted in his tracks.

"Uh, no, I don't think so. I'm going to need a few more lessons."

"Relax. I just want you to take what you've learned and apply it to an actual car. We won't even leave the parking lot."

Mike hadn't done any backing out in the simulator, but found it didn't feel all that different than going forwards -- except that he kept turning the steering wheel in the wrong direction.

"If I hadn't been with you all morning," groused Harvey, "I might accuse you of being drunk or high."

Mike had finally gotten the car clear of the sidewalk and shrubbery, and jerked forward before stalling again. "I'm going to need something after this," he muttered. He took some deep, slow breaths, closed his eyes, and visualized salt. He tried again, and this time the car went smoothly forward. Emboldened, Mike sped up and shifted into second, and third, and fourth.

By now they were going nearly fifty miles an hour. Mike had a grin on his face, and wove around the lot as if it was a slalom course. "Woo hoo," he whispered under his breath, and then louder, to Harvey, "Does this thing have fifth gear?"

"Of course, but since we're not on the freeway, we'll leave that one alone for now. Bring the car to a slow, smooth stop, and park it in one of the spaces. Okay, you just took out any cars parked next to you, but I'll let that go. Foot on the brake. Put it in park. Good." He seemed to let out a breath, making Mike wonder how tense he'd actually been. He'd hidden it well. "You did good, Mike. Great first lesson. You ready for some lunch?"

Mike almost didn't want to give up his seat to Harvey. Almost. He got out and moved around to the passenger side, though. He wasn't ready yet to brave the freeway.

 

******

 

_Thanks for the driving lesson. I'm starting to understand why you're so fond of your little sports cars. I'm still a little worried about driving in actual traffic, but at least it's starting to seem possible._

_Heh. I nearly had a heart attack when Mr. Barone introduced himself as "Dom." Which is his name, sure, but for half a second I thought you'd driven me out there to hand me off to him. Because of...reasons._

_***_

_There's this huge gorilla in the room, and he may be napping right now, but he's been here since last night and I think we should talk about him, because I'm getting more and more worried about that big, ugly bastard._

_I never meant to alarm you, or insult you, or whatever happened when I slipped up and called you that._

_When I called you Master._

_Did I mangle some protocol I wasn't aware of?_

_It seemed the right thing to say in the moment. That's what you did to me, how you made me feel, but it doesn't mean I'm asking anything more from you than what we've already agreed to._

_By the way, did I ever thank you for last night? It was amazing. So...thank you._

_***_

_No, I have forgotten that I'm supposed to be working on step four. Moral inventory._

_Okay, here's one for you. I told you my dad was a pharmacist. My mom was the real brains of the family, and she probably could have been anything she wanted to be, but she suffered from some malady -- depression, I guess. My dad used to smuggle her pills from the pharmacy. I have no idea how he got away with it. Maybe he would have been caught eventually. Anyway, I remember all the names of the drugs he brought her, and later, after they died, I looked them up, and I'm pretty sure she was hooked on opioids. So maybe the depression followed the addiction, or maybe it was the other way around._

_When Grammy and I were packing up their stuff, I found her stash and I hid it and brought it with me. That was my first time, the first time I ever did drugs. That first night, I thought about taking them all at once -- and that's all it was, just a passing thought, one possible option among others -- but I didn't. I'd take one or two at night when I couldn't sleep. I went to school high dozens of times. I always expected to feel closer to my folks when I was high, especially my mom. That never happened, but at least I missed them a little bit less._

_Grammy eventually caught on to what I was doing. I lied to her face and told her some kid at school had been trading drugs for homework._

_Yeah, I was kind of a little shit._

_I stopped then. I probably went through some kind of withdrawals, but it could have been the flu. I didn't touch anything for a couple of years after that, not until I met Trevor._

_So maybe it runs in the family. That's not an excuse, though._

_***_

_Do you think...._

_Shit, this is so hard to ask._

_Do you think that there are things it's okay to be addicted to?_

_Or is it all bad, and ultimately destructive?_

_Discuss._  

******

 

Mike sat on the floor, waiting for Harvey to finish reading the entry. After two weeks of nonstop nudity, it felt weird not to be naked. He'd earned his underpants back, though. They were one of the nice pairs that Harvey had bought for him, grey with lime green pinstripes.

He darted a glance at Harvey, who had a look of intense concentration on his face. After closing the journal, he held it in one hand, still appearing deep in thought. Finally, though, he looked over at Mike.

"I suppose," Harvey said, "we can begin with the 800 pound gorilla. I'll admit you took me by surprise last night, but you didn't do anything wrong. You were perfect." His gaze shifted so that he was staring at the far wall, and one hand tapped an uneven beat on his thigh. "I should tell you that a Master/slave relationship is not something I'm interested in. It works beautifully for some people, but...." He grimaced, appearing uncomfortable. "If that's your dynamic, never hesitate to express yourself in whatever way makes sense to you. I'll never judge you for that, but try not to be disappointed if I don’t respond in kind. You’re my sub, not my slave. Period. Does that answer your question?"

Did it? It answered the immediate question, but didn't address the issue that Mike couldn't bring himself to mention -- namely, was Harvey really going to walk away from this when their contracted time came to end? It was still a long way off, but in another five and half months, Mike would only be in that much deeper, and the potential hurt would be that much more devastating.

Harvey was waiting for an answer, so Mike nodded. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

"And now to your other question." Harvey flipped the journal back open. "You asked if it's all right to be addicted to some things. Could you be more specific?"

_You. Sex. Sex with you._ Mike shrugged. "I don't know. Some examples might be working out. Driving fast cars." _Submitting to you._

"Hmm. Well, the best answer I can give you is to look at how the behavior impacts your life. If you worked out to the point of damaging your health, or ignoring your other obligations, then I'd say it is destructive. If, on the other hand, you keep to a reasonable amount, and your health and quality of life improve as a result, then I don't see any harm in it." He gave Mike a searching look. "Does that help?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now, I'm pleased that you've gained another privilege, but for what I have planned for you tonight, I'm going to have to ask you to remove -- "

He was interrupted when his phone erupted into _Brick House_. Harvey picked it up off the coffee table and frowned at the screen.

"Jessica," he said by way of greeting. "Yes. I know. He – What? Shit. Tonight?" He sighed and nodded tightly, and then listened to her for several minutes without speaking. "Sure. Okay. I've got the Danner hearing on Thursday." More listening. "I can be there in an hour. Which airline?"

He hung up and gave Mike a pinch-mouthed look.

"Change of plans?" Mike guessed.

Harvey nodded. "Can't be helped. There’s an emergency with one of my clients, and I've got to go out of town for a few days."

Mike's stomach turned over and clenched around a sudden stab of anxiety.

"It'll be fine, baby," Harvey assured him. He stood up, and Mike did too, following him to Harvey's bedroom, where Harvey pulled a suitcase out of his closet and began packing. "Just stick to your schedule. Send me your daily texts. I may be delayed in responding, but I will, as soon as I can."

"Okay." _Don't panic._ Logically, he knew that he had managed on his own before he met Harvey, but somehow, in the last few weeks, he had grown more emotionally dependent on him than anyone since Trevor.

Harvey must have seen his uncertainty, because he stopped, set down the three pairs of socks he held, and moved in front of Mike, holding his shoulders and looking him in the eyes. "You're going to be fine."

"When are you coming back?"

Harvey grimaced. "I hope to be back by Tuesday evening, but sometimes these things take longer than anticipated. By Friday, at the latest."

"What about Clifford Danner's hearing?"

"Jessica has agreed to stand in if I'm not back. If she can't get a continuance, there's no one I'd trust more to argue his case."

"Okay. Well...." He ducked his head. "I'll miss you," he mumbled.

Harvey ruffled his hair and turned back to his packing, moving with quick sure movements. "If anything comes up that you don’t think you can handle, you have Jake's card. Don't hesitate to call him if you need to."

Mike nodded at Harvey's back. "Yes, Sir."

Five minutes later, Harvey carried his suitcase and garment bag to the front door.

"You never said where you're going," Mike pointed out.

"I'll be in Chicago." Harvey appeared to be in a rush to go, but he paused to consider Mike for a moment. "I'll text you when I get there. And I'll call you each evening so we can touch bases."

"Sure." Mike forced a smile onto his face. "I'd offer to drive you, but...."

"But we’d both prefer that I get to the airport in one piece. It's fine. Jessica already called my driver. He's probably downstairs already." He hesitated, and then hauled Mike closer so he could drop a brief kiss on his forehead. "Behave yourself, sweetheart."

"I will, Sir."

Seconds later, the door closed in Mike's face.

 

******

 

_I met Trevor when I was twelve. Before that, I had about a year and a half stretch where I was a nice, well-behaved kid. I also got beat up a lot. Trevor put an end to all of that -- both the good behavior and the bullies. He wasn't just like my brother, he_ was _my brother. I loved him._

_I also looked down on him. It doesn't make me proud to admit that. Now that I look back on it, I believe we both saw the relationship differently. To me, he was my meathead sidekick. To Trevor, he was the superhero, and I was his wimpy sidekick._

_Well, I was wimpy. I never ran from a fight, but I don't think I've ever won one, either._

_Maybe I should take up Jeet Kune Do, or something like that._

_Anyway, as it turned out, Trevor had the right of it, not me. I'm the one who trailed after him, and fell in with whatever plans he decided on._

_Huh. Maybe he was my first Dom, and I never realized it. Who's the dumb one now?_

_The stunt at Columbia wasn't our first venture into sketchy or downright bad behavior. If not for my help, I doubt that Trevor would have graduated high school. Don't get me wrong. He has a brain. He would just rather take shortcuts. And I was his best, most consistent shortcut._

_We started smoking weed in junior high. Grammy didn't earn a lot, and we were still struggling, so my allowance didn't amount to much. Consequently, sometimes she'd "lose" a five or ten here and there. And sometimes a small electrical appliance would disappear. Obviously, I couldn't steal from her indefinitely, so with Trevor egging me on, I took up shoplifting. I was good at it, too. Despite being a little stoner shithead, I maintained a clean cut air about me that fooled most of the store owners in the neighborhood. Sometimes I took Trevor with me, just so they'd focus their scrutiny on him instead of me. What did he have to lose? They all knew he was a budding criminal._

_The last two years of high school, I decided I wanted to go straight. Straighter. Grammy’s health had just started to falter, and I suspected that I would need to support her in a few years, so I got my grades up, and applied for every scholarship I could dig up. I didn’t think I could survive in college without Trevor, so I got his grades up too._

_But, you know what? I’ve come to the conclusion that Trevor could have accomplished the same thing on his own, if I wasn’t there doing all the work for him. At the time, I thought I was being a good friend, but now I see that I was being selfish._

******

 

Mike tossed the journal and pen on the nightstand and rubbed his eyes. Thinking about Trevor had made him melancholy. He’d expended so much energy in the last months being angry at him, that he’d managed to overlook the fact that Trevor had been his only real friend, and that underneath it all, he missed him.

Another day, maybe he’d write about their disintegrating relationship at Columbia, about the Disastrous Drunken Blow Job of Doom, and Trevor’s rage, and Mike’s guilt and sick fear that he’d lose Trevor to his own stupidity. After Mike got kicked out of school, and Trevor didn’t, the balance shifted back to something approaching equal amounts of guilt and shame on both sides, but Trevor had gradually grown more and more controlling, and Mike had gone along with it.

“Shit, Harvey was right,” he muttered, punching his pillow and burrowing more deeply under the covers. “I’m the subbiest sub there ever was.”

He was still awake an hour later, and reached for his phone to check Facebook and Tumblr and Twitter. He thought about texting Harvey, but he said he would contact Mike when he got to Chicago.

Mike had deleted Trevor’s number from his phone, but he still remembered it. If he dialed it right now, would Trevor pick up? More than likely, he had a new phone and a new number by now. Still, the temptation to find out was strong.

In the midst of his waffling, his phone _blooped_ , indicating that he had received a text message. Knowing it was most likely from Harvey, he guiltily closed the call screen and pulled up the message:

_Arrived okay. Why are you reading this? You should be asleep._

Mike rolled his eyes and texted back: _Insomnia. So sue me._

_(Harvey) Seriously, are you all right?_

_(Mike) Sure. I’m going to miss my spanking in the morning, though._

_(Harvey) Behave while I’m gone, and I’ll give you one strictly for fun._

_(Mike) Mmm….strictly. I like the sound of that._

_(Harvey) Go to sleep._

_(Mike) Yessir._

As much as Mike wanted to obey, however, it was a long while before he finally did.

 

******

 

The one positive aspect of Mike’s job, was that he could perform it practically on autopilot, with no drama and minimal stress. His boss, Denny, had never shown any real fondness for Mike, but he tolerated him, and also knew that when an emergency arose, Mike could be relied upon to handle it.

Monday afternoon, as Mike lounged with a handful of other messengers in front of a centrally located coffee cart, waiting for his next assignment, he got a call from Denny.

“Where the fuck is the signed and notarized Schenk contract? I have a hysterical paralegal calling me every three minutes, and the words coming out of her mouth are appalling. Did you get lost?”

“No, Denny,” said Mike, perhaps a little too tartly. “I did not get lost. I don’t get lost. I delivered that contract half an hour ago.”

“Yeah? Where? Where did you deliver it?”

“To Sidwell, just like it said on the work order.”

Mike heard a crash on the other end of the line, and knew that Denny had lobbed something against the wall of his office, probably his stapler, which was his favorite projectile. “Listen, genius, I have a copy of the work order in front of my face, and it clearly shows that the contract was going to Dimon & Associates, not Sidwell. Are you a freaking moron? Do I have a freaking moron working for me?”

Mike was already fumbling in his messenger bag. He grabbed his clipboard and thumbed through the work orders attached to it until he found the one in question. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Denny. I can be back at Dimon in ten minutes.”

“Don’t bother. Jimmy is closer. You’re done for the day. I should suspend you for the whole week.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fuck fair. Dimon was bidding against Sidwell. We could lose a huge client because of your screw up. Plus, if the Schenk deal goes south, we could also face a lawsuit. In fact, you know what? You are suspended. No pay. Call me in a week and we’ll see if I even want you back.”

“Denny – ” But his boss had already hung up on him. “Shit,” Mike whispered, and then, “Fuck!” he screamed, drawing some amused glances from his co-workers.

“S’matter, wonder boy? Did Denny finally figure out you’re only human, like the rest of us?”

Mike ignored her. He couldn’t believe it. He’d never fucked up a delivery like that before. And now…he needed his paycheck. It wasn’t much, but he’d planned to keep his apartment in Brooklyn, even though he hadn’t set foot in it in over two weeks, and he couldn’t do that without regular income.

“Damn it,” he muttered, climbing on his bike and coasting down the sidewalk. He sighed, thinking rapidly. It was nearly the end of the month. He had enough in his bank account today to pay next month’s rent. Since Harvey was currently feeding him, he had managed to save a little money. Right now, he had nothing better to do, so he decided to bike out to Brooklyn and surprise his landlord by paying early for once. He could also check on the place, make sure the rat population hadn’t converted it into a timeshare, or sublet it to the roaches.

 

******

 

Mr. Bakeman eyed Mike suspiciously when he knocked on his door and thrust the rent check at him. “I haven’t seen you around,” he grumbled. “I thought maybe you’d skipped out on me.”

“Nah. Just spending some time with a friend. You might not see me much for the next couple of months, but I’m not giving the place up.”

“Hmm. Whatever.” He shut the door in Mike’s face.

Now, Mike stood inside his apartment, holding a stack of mail, and wondering how a place could feel so abandoned and forlorn after only two weeks away. He turned the television on, just to make sure it was still working, and then turned it back off again. Disobedience was disobedience, whether he was in Brooklyn or Manhattan.

He sat on the couch and started going through his mail. Flyers, supplements, electric bill, credit card offers, coupons. He set aside what he wanted to keep, which wasn’t much. He paused, swallowing hard, as he examined an envelope from his Grammy’s nursing home. He ran a finger under the flap and opened it. Inside was a bill, marked “past due.”

“The fuck….?”

The balance was huge, more than half a year’s rent. It might have been marked past due, but he couldn’t recall receiving any previous requests for payment. He tossed it aside, thinking that he would call them later to straighten it out. If he really did owe them money, he’d have to work out some kind of a payment plan. _Because…blood…rock…you do the math, assholes._

He found his next unpleasant surprise of the day near the bottom of the stack. It was a postcard depicting some place called Pike Place Market, which, when he turned the card over, was revealed to be in Seattle. The postcard was from Trevor.

_“Miss you, buddy. Been trying to get in on the legal pot market here, but it’s not so easy. I’m thinking of coming home. You still got my money? I’m going to need it. Call me.”_

There was a phone number with an unfamiliar area code. For long seconds, Mike stared at the number. It would be so great to hear Trevor’s voice. But what money was he talking about? Mike had never gotten any money. The drug buy had been a failure. The cops confiscated all the pot, and that was the end of it.

Maybe Trevor was fucking with him. He did that sometimes.

Mike gave his head a sharp shake. The last thing he needed was to reestablish contact with Trevor. Their tangled history had been steeped in drug use and petty crimes, and if he wanted to keep clinging to his sobriety, he needed to play it smart. So he grabbed the few bills he needed to pay – including Grammy’s bill – and left the rest of the mail, and Trevor’s post card, on his coffee table. He thought of grabbing some more clothes, but nothing he owned could match the wardrobe Harvey had put together for him, so he decided against it.

It was growing dark by the time he got on his bike for the ride back across the bridge. Thinking about the hours stretching ahead of him – hours without Harvey, no work, and left to his own devices – had him feeling itchy and nervous. They would talk on the phone later, and he could only hope that would settle him down.

His distraction and inattention nearly cost him dearly. About fifteen blocks from the condo, he was stopped at a red light. The light changed to green, and he pushed off, heading into the intersection, only to clamp down on his brakes when he saw a car coming from the right and speeding straight for him. His back wheel skidded out from under him, and he landed on his side in the middle of the intersection. The confusing sounds of squealing tires and honking horns seemed to come from all around him.

He lay stunned for a few seconds before rolling to his knees and climbing shakily to his feet. He waved away a driver who had exited his car to approach Mike. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” And he was. His knee, and elbow, and the side of one hand were scraped and oozing droplets of blood, but nothing was broken, and his head had not been impacted. His bike, similarly, appeared to be operable when he lifted it from the ground. “It’s cool,” he assured the driver. “I just need to catch my breath.”

Walking with a pronounced limp, he wheeled his bike over to the sidewalk, leaned it against a street sign, and bent over with his hands on his knees, just breathing in and out, and trying to slow his racing heart.

“Well, that sucked,” he muttered.

Eventually, he pulled himself together enough to get back on his bike and gingerly pedal the rest of the way home. He raided Harvey’s first aid kit for antiseptic and bandages, and got himself set to rights. A glance at the clock on the microwave showed him that it was just past seven.

_Stick to your schedule,_ Harvey had told him, so he opened the refrigerator and viewed the ingredients for the dinner he’d planned to prepare tonight. He couldn’t dredge up any enthusiasm for cooking, so he ordered a pizza instead, and tried not to feel guilty for this little lapse.

An hour later, with dinner eaten, and the minimal mess taken care of, Mike was at a loss as to what to do. He knew he should write in his journal, but the thought of baring more of his soul and misdeeds made him cringe. He’d written a fair amount yesterday, and if he skipped it tonight, Harvey would never know.

_But you’ll know_ , whispered his better angel. _Shut up,_ he whispered back.

He tried to settle down with his e-book, but couldn’t concentrate on the complicated plot. Finally, he closed the reading app on the tablet and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

It was only idle curiosity and boredom, he told himself, nothing more, that made him open the browser and do a Google search on the length of time various drugs stay in a person’s system. Not that he would chance it with any of them. It was just….A person should know all of their options, that was all.

_Yeah, right._

With the information in front of him – and lodged in his memory for future reference – he began evaluating and weighing his various options, and calculating how soon he would need to obtain them so that they’d be out of his system by next Monday. Codeine would be gone in a day, but he’d never done that before, not recreationally, and wasn’t sure where to even get it without a prescription. Pot was a big fat No. That shit could show up as much as a month later. Morphine, two to three days, but…morphine. Coke should be gone in four days, max, and was a known quantity for Mike. There was a guy twenty minutes away, assuming he hadn’t moved, and –

Mike set the tablet on the floor and sat up slowly. What the hell was he doing? He looked down at his hands to discover that they were shaking.

This was nuts. Harvey hadn’t even been gone for twenty-four hours yet, and Mike was plotting what and where to score. He searched his mind for any advice or strategies for handling this. At first, he came up blank, but then he remembered something Harvey had said. He should envision the life he wanted to live, and not do anything to fuck it up. Or something like that.

He got to his feet and began pacing back and forth in the living room. He didn’t have a life like Harvey’s to preserve. He might not even have a job to hold onto. He wanted his freedom, though. He definitely did not want to end up in prison.

_But if I’m careful,_ the addict inside him whispered. Growing more agitated, he ran a hand through his hair. He picked up his phone and tapped out a text message to Harvey, decided it sounded too hysterical, deleted it, and tried again.

Finally, this is the message he sent: _How’s Chicago? NYC is…challenging. Got time to talk?_

While he waited for a reply, he resumed pacing. Every so often, his gaze wandered to the cupboard where he’d seen the bottle of scotch Harvey had bought last week. He ordered himself, over and over, to ignore it, to put it out of his mind, but his orders didn’t carry the weight of Harvey’s, and he kept picturing it in there, all unopened and pristine.

“Come on, Harvey,” he mumbled as he paced.

Beginning to feel more than a little desperate, he allowed his pacing to take him into Harvey’s bedroom. He sat on the bed, thought better of it, and knelt on the floor. The position calmed him, but only slightly. He crossed his wrists behind his back and pretended he was cuffed, or tied up with Harvey’s ropes. He felt his heartbeat slow in his chest, and some of the tension and _want_ eased.

Encouraged by this progress, an idea seized him. He got up to rummage in the built-in cupboard on Harvey’s wall where Mike knew he stored all the gags and cuffs and other implements he used on Mike. It took him only a moment to find what he was looking for. Feeling both guilty and excited, he pushed the wiffle ball gag into his mouth and buckled the strap behind his head. Then he worked the tight hood over his head, feeling the same tiny surge of panic he always did at the claustrophobic sensation it produced. He breathed through his discomfort, and settled back onto his knees.

This was good, he decided. Already he felt calmer and more in control of himself. Something was missing, though. Reaching blindly toward the head of the bed until his hand made contact with one of Harvey’s pillows, he dragged it over to himself and rested his head on it, breathing in the faint scent of Harvey’s aftershave that clung to it, pretending it was Harvey’s thigh.

It was difficult to focus on someone who wasn’t there in the room, but Mike did the best he could, projecting his thoughts westward across the miles to Chicago, to whatever nice hotel or restaurant Harvey currently inhabited.

“You’re a good boy,” he whispered over and over in his head, and tried to convince himself it was Harvey’s voice saying the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter!

A song played somewhere nearby. _Three Little Birds_. Mike came awake with a start. His jaw ached. He couldn’t see anything, and immediately began to hyperventilate. He touched his face and encountered leather, and that was when he remembered. He’d tried to recreate a scene on his own, and he must have dozed off.

His phone continued to warble insistently. It had to be Harvey. No one else would be calling him. He peeled the hood up off of his mouth, unfastened and removed the gag with hands that trembled, and felt around on the bed for the phone. It had stopped playing, but after a few seconds, it started up again. With more effort than it should have taken, Mike dragged the hood clear of his eyes. By the time he answered the call, he was breathing hard.

“Yeah.”

“Mike?”

“The one and only. Sir.”

A beat of silence. “Is everything all right?”

“Uh.” The answer to that was a more complex one than Mike could manage at that moment. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What are you doing?”

“I fell asleep.”

Another brief, weighted pause. “Were you running in your sleep? You sound out of breath.”

“No, Sir.” He knew he should just tell Harvey the truth, but he felt so foolish, substituting a pillow for Harvey, and _pining_ for him. “It took me a minute to get to the phone. I didn’t want to miss your call.”

“Hm. Okay,” said Harvey, although he sounded skeptical. “So what did you want to talk about?”

What _did_ he want to talk about? His budding scheme to use and not get caught? His use of Harvey’s things without asking permission? His suspension from work? As he thought about it, he decided that the last one would be the easiest place to start.

“I didn’t have such a great day at work today. I messed up a delivery, and I’m benched for the rest of the week. Without pay.”

“Ouch. I'm sorry to hear that. It is unfortunate, but surely not the end of the world.”

“Tell that to my boss,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure that I still have a job there. I won’t know until next week.”

“Ah. Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you."

Mike's mouth opened and closed a few times as he struggled with a response. "I need my job," he finally got out.

"Calm down. If you’re fired, you’ll find something else.”

Except, it had taken him forever to find that job. His resume wasn’t exactly something that HR departments drooled over, not that Harvey could relate to that. He sighed, deciding to change the subject. “So how was your day? How’s Chicago?”

“My day was filled with strategy meetings and filings and irate, panicky clients.”

“But you got them all fixed up, right? You’ll be home tomorrow?”

When Harvey sighed, Mike knew he wasn’t going to like his answer. “I’m afraid not. This is a complex situation, and it needs my delicate touch.”

_I need your touch. Delicate or otherwise._ “So, when….”

“Looks like I’ll be gone all week.”

Mike’s stomach took a sharp dive towards his feet. His heart signaled its agreement with his stomach, thudding out a warning of _doom, doom, doom._

“Um,” said Mike. “I think….” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was having bad thoughts. Earlier.”

“Bad thoughts?”

He tugged the hood the rest of the way off his head and set it on the bed, staring at it as he scratched his sweaty scalp. “The thing with my job, and then Trevor – ”

“ _Trevor_?”

_Oh, right. He hadn’t been planning to bring that up._ “I got a postcard from him.”

“He has my address?” Mike could hear the rising annoyance in Harvey’s voice.

“Um. No. He sent it to my place in Brooklyn.” Was he even allowed to go to visit his apartment? At the moment, Mike couldn’t say for sure.

Mike wished he could see Harvey’s expression so he could understand what the long pause signified.

“Why were you in Brooklyn?”

Yep, he was definitely annoyed. Mike sagged back against the bed. “I had the afternoon off, so I thought I’d go pay my next month’s rent while I still had money in my account.” He waited, but Harvey didn’t say anything. “Should I not have done that?”

“You could have mailed the check.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I needed to check my mail anyway.”

“Did it ever occur to you that you could have your mail forwarded?”

“Harvey, I think we’re getting bogged down in minutiae here.”

“Watch your tone, boy.”

Mike blew out a noisy breath. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m not trying to provoke you, but I’m legit freaking out. I even Googled –” He stopped short, not ready to admit what he’d done.

“You Googled what, Mike?” Harvey’s voice had gone low and commanding.

Mike bit his lip.

“I asked you a question, boy. Where are you right now?”

Mike gave a guilty look around Harvey’s bedroom. “Uh, on the floor?” he finally answered, hoping Harvey wouldn’t press him for details.

“Put the phone on speaker, please.”

Mike did as he’d asked, and set the phone on Harvey’s bed.

“If you’re not already, kneel for me.”

Mike hadn’t been, and scrambled to get into position, ignoring the way his scraped knee throbbed when he put pressure on it too suddenly. “I’m kneeling, Sir.”

“Close your eyes, breathe in and breathe out, and listen to the sound of my voice.”

Calm settled over Mike as he gave control over to Harvey.

“Now tell me,” said Harvey, “what did you Google?”

The words wanted to stick in Mike’s throat, but he forced them out. “I was researching ways to get high that wouldn’t show up on next week’s piss test.”

There was a pause, while Mike waited in dread for Harvey's reaction.

“What prompted this?” Harvey's voice was low and deadly serious.

The question was difficult to answer. “I was feeling agitated."

"About?"

"My job. Trevor. I got this huge bill from Grammy’s nursing home. Uh, I wiped out on my bike and that shook me up a little.”

“How badly? Are you all right?”

“Sure. It was a close call, but I’m perfectly fine. Mostly fine.”

“So you got home after a bad day. How were you feeling?”

"I told you, I was agitated, and...." He tried to remember exactly what he'd been feeling. "I was thinking about Trevor. Missing him, even though I know he's a jerk. I was bored, and.... It wasn't a conscious decision, I swear. It's like I was on autopilot, and this need to use just sort of ballooned out of nowhere."

"You were having thoughts about Trevor. What else?"

Mike frowned, thinking hard. "Nothing...oh, well, I did consider writing in my journal, but then I decided....oh shit. I decided to disobey you and skip it for today. I think maybe I was...." He winced, not wanting to say it out loud.

"You were what?"

"It's stupid."

"You're resisting, which suggests to me that this is important. Tell me."

"Okay. I know it's not rational and I totally get that you had no choice, but I think I may have been a little bit, sort of, to a certain extent -- "

"Mike...."

"Angry. Okay? I was angry at you for....Never mind. It's stupid. I don't want to talk about this." He absolutely did not, because he was afraid he might start crying, which was even more stupid than being angry at Harvey for something he couldn't control.

He heard Harvey let out a soft breath. "Sweetheart, negative feelings come with the territory. I warned you that step four might stir up things inside you." He was quiet for several seconds, and Mike pictured him in his hotel room, taking off his shoes and settling himself on the bed.

"Let me tell you what I think," Harvey finally continued. "Don't say anything, just listen. You've had people leave you, important people in your life. Your parents left you, and your grandmother, and then this Trevor. Logically, you know the reason for each of those departures. That's life -- and death. It happens. Doesn't make it any less painful, though. One way you dealt with your parents' death was getting high. I'm willing to bet that it was the same after your grandmother died. After Trevor made his exit from your life, you weren't allowed to fall back on what you viewed as a tried and true means of comfort and escape. Tell me, yes or no, do I have it right so far?"

It was an effort to work enough moisture into his mouth to rasp out, "Yes."

"Now, I've left you. It's only temporary, and I'm not nearly as important to you as the other people that abandoned you, but one thing we humans like to do is look for patterns. You see this as a pattern in your life, and your first instinct is to once again self-medicate in order to deal with it." He paused, as if waiting for Mike to respond. When he didn't, Harvey prompted, "Would you agree with my analysis?"

It all sounded so simple and obvious when Harvey laid it out like that. He'd gotten one major element wrong, though. "Maybe you don't want to hear this, but you are, you know. You're important to me. Very. A lot." Through the phone, he could hear Harvey shifting around. Mike's knee had begun to throb in earnest. He pressed it harder against the floor, to ground himself. To punish himself. A shiver went through him which showed up in his voice when he spoke. "You may not want me to feel that way, but I do."

They were both quiet for several minutes, as each of them digested what the other had said.

Harvey broke the silence first. "It's understandable, I suppose. Our arrangement is both intense and often highly intimate. If I were a psychologist, I might term what you're feeling as transference."

_Arrangement._ He hadn't called it a relationship. It was an arrangement, nothing more. Mike ground harder on his knee and made an involuntary sound of distress. He could hardly argue the point, though. He'd read the contract before he signed it. It wasn't Harvey's fault if Mike couldn't keep his ridiculous emotions in check.

Harvey was speaking again. "Maybe it would help if you thought of me as simply a means to an end. I'm giving you an alternate way to deal with the crap that life hands you. And I should have been there today. I wish like hell I had been, because it sounds like you got more than your fair share of crap thrown at you." More dead air. Mike could almost hear Harvey thinking. "I have an idea," Harvey said slowly, "but I need to make a phone call first. Will you be all right for ten or fifteen minutes?"

"Probably?" His voice caught on the word.

"Let me put it another way. You will be okay while I place this call. You're not to move, or use your phone until you're certain it's me calling. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. I'll make this as quick as I can."

 

_Don't worry, about a thing, 'cuz everything little thing, is gonna be all right._

Mike blinked slowly, recognizing the ringtone, and reached for his phone. He hadn't fallen asleep, but it almost felt as if he'd slipped into some sort of trance or suspended animation as he waited for Harvey to call back.

"Yeah," he answered the phone.

"You doing okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Here's the plan. Pack a bag for the rest of the week. Jake's going to pick you up in twenty minutes."

"Jake?" Mike straightened up, fully alert now. "What for? What's he going to do?" He experienced sudden, frantic thoughts about Jake stringing him up and beating him without mercy. It sent his heartrate skyrocketing, although he wasn't sure yet what he thought about the idea.

"He’s agreed to keep an eye on you for me while I'm gone."

Mike told himself to calm down. "Keep an eye on me? And what does that mean? Exactly?"

"For the most part, you'll be his house guest. However, I'd also like you to consider him your temporary Dom until I return. Serve him the same way you would me. He'll administer your discipline, and engage in any other play or scenes which you two might negotiate together. However, because I believe it would be too confusing for you, there will be no physical intimacy. That means, he is not to penetrate you in any way, or kiss you. If he decides to let you come, you'll get yourself off. He's welcome to watch, but not participate."

"Um." Mike tried to wrap his brain around all of this new information. "Is this...are you allowed to do this?"

"Sweetheart." He spoke the word so tenderly that a full body shudder ran through Mike. "I believe this is the best solution for you right now. Of course you're allowed to say no, but I hope you won't. You need someone to help you, sooner rather than later, to bring you down and get your head back in the right place. Since I can't be there for you, the person I trust most in the world to step in for me is Jake. He'll be so good to you, baby. I promise. Please say you'll do this for me."

Mike didn't consider refusing. He knew Harvey was right. He needed... _something_ to derail the crazy train he had boarded a few hours ago. Part of him was almost eager to find out what Jake might do to him, which in turn might help him understand what it had been like for Harvey as Jake's sub. Another part, though, felt more than a little forlorn to think that he was being passed off to someone who wasn't Harvey.

"I'll do it," he finally said. "But only because you want me to." Let Harvey make of that what he would.

"Thank you. Now hang up and get packed. You don't want to keep Jake waiting."

"I hope the rest of your week goes okay," said Mike.

"I appreciate that. But I wasn't joking. You _really_ don't want to keep him waiting."

And with that intriguing comment, they both rang off.

 

******

 

Mike was standing on the curb in front of Harvey's building with his hastily packed duffel bag at his feet when Jake pulled up in an enormous black pickup truck. He leaned across the front seat to open the door and grinned at Mike, teeth white against his black beard.

"Throw your bag behind the seat and get in," he ordered.

Mike stowed his bag and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Did you eat yet?" asked Jake, as he pulled back into the light traffic.

"Yeah," said Mike. He eyed Jake out of the corner of his eye, noted his frown, and amended, "Yes, sir."

"Tell me what you had."

Mike considered lying, for no reason he could put his finger on, but answered truthfully. "Pizza."

"Pizza, huh? Well, you won't be having any of that junk food while you're with me."

Mike gave a short, disbelieving laugh and slouched lower in his seat. "Pizza's not junk food. Mine had vegetables on it and everything."

"If Harvey wants to feed you pizza, that's his business, but I have my own way of doing things."

"Maybe I like Harvey's way better," he muttered, staring out the side window.

Jake didn't respond to that, and as they drove in silence, Mike began to feel guilty for his sullen attitude. Jake was doing both him and Harvey a favor. He considered apologizing, but didn't know what to say. The silence stretched for another fifteen minutes, until Jake pulled into a parking garage and stopped the truck.

"Look," Mike began, but Jake held up his index finger to stop him.

"Let's get inside, and then we'll talk. Fair enough?"

"Sure. I mean, yes, sir."

They got out, and Mike lugged his duffel bag behind the big man. Jake was dressed tonight in loose cotton pants and a pectoral hugging t-shirt. Mike did his best not to stare at his muscular ass. They got on the elevator, standing side by side. Mike let out a nervous puff of air and cleared his throat. When the doors slid open on the seventeenth floor, he had a split second urge to stay where he was, ride back down to street level, and flee into the night. Instead, he followed Jake into his apartment.

Jake may not have lived in as nice a building as Harvey, but the interior of his apartment was beautiful. Maple plank floors shone with such a high gloss as to be nearly reflective. A handful of colorful throw rugs overlapped one another, making a rough zigzag across the front entry and living room. The walls were covered with paintings and charcoal drawings of nudes, and Mike made a mental note to take a closer look at them later. He was willing to bet they were Jake's work, as they all had a similar look to them.

Jake led him to a postage stamp sized bedroom. In contrast to the living room, this space was stark and unadorned, containing a twin bed, matching dresser and nightstand that probably came from Ikea, and a miniscule closet.

"This used to be the utility room," Jake told him as Mike set his duffel bag on the floor. "I converted the original second bedroom into my play room." He turned and gave Mike a searching look, causing him to fidget nervously. Crossing his massive arms, Jake leaned against the wall. "Have a seat while we go over a few things."

Mike looked at the bed, and looked at the floor, and finally knelt on the floor, holding in his wince when his sore knee made contact. "I didn't mean to be rude earlier," he said.

Jake gave him a kind smile. "There's the sweet boy I remember. Don't worry about it. Harvey said you were having kind of a tough night. Okay, this can go one of two ways, Mike. You can stay here as a welcome house guest. I'll keep an eye on you, be a sounding board if you need to talk, and turn you over to Harvey when he gets back, in the same condition in which I found you."

"Or?"

"Or you allow me to step into Harvey's role as your Dom. I believe he spelled out the ground rules for that when you spoke on the phone?"

"Yeah. Yes, sir." Mike knew he was blushing, but he couldn't prevent the technicolor image that flooded his mind, of sprawling wantonly on the bed behind him, and stroking himself to completion while Jake watched. _Of course, you idiot,_ he chided himself, _that's what you focus on._ He had a sneaking suspicion that Jake knew precisely what was going on inside his head, because an amused half-smile had quirked his mouth up on one side.

"Take your time," said Jake, voice friendly and neutral. "It's your call. Just know that if you pick option two, this is the last decision you'll be allowed. Based on the conversation I just had with Harvey, I would strongly recommend you let me take charge of you. Whichever you choose, I'll respect your decision."

It had been on the tip of Mike's tongue to take option two, but he balked at something Jake had just said. "Wait. Wait a second. What happened to negotiating our scenes together? Harvey said -- "

"Harvey might not agree with me, but that's not the way I work. Harvey lives to negotiate. He once confided in me that it's not money that drives him to succeed in his profession, but the need to bend other people to his will. His biggest beef with me, initially, was that I took that away from him. I always gave him what he needed, though. More than anyone I've ever worked with, Harvey needed to have choice taken out of the equation."

Jake tilted his head to one side, as if considering Mike. "It probably won't surprise you to hear that your Harvey has a stubborn streak a mile wide. It took an entire week before I could get him to kneel for me. What a rush, though, when he finally did." He took the two steps needed to reach Mike, and laid a hand gently on his head, stroking his hair back away from his face. "You, on the other hand....I swear, you're about the sweetest little sub I've ever seen."

Jake's praise burned through Mike's gut like heat lightning, igniting a confusing conflagration of shame and arousal and guilt. Shame, because he still hadn't gotten past the notion that being submissive made him somehow defective as a man. Arousal, because Jake’s voice and touch lit up his nerve endings and made him yearn to submit. And guilt, because Jake wasn’t Harvey.

No, he wasn’t Harvey, but he was Harvey’s proxy, and if he submitted to Jake, he was, by extension, also submitting to Harvey. Wasn’t he? And he needed this. Christ, but he needed this.

“I can still safeword though, right? If I don’t like what’s happening?”

“Of course. That’s your power. You hold the ultimate veto in any given situation.”

Mike bowed his head, and when he felt Jake’s warm palm on the back of his neck, he shivered. “Option two, sir,” he got out, voice hoarse. ”Please.”

Jake’s hand tightened on his neck, and then landed once more on top of his head. “Thank you, boy. Wise choice.” He removed his hand and stepped back. “Let’s go over some basic rules. You may speak if you need to, but silence should be your default setting. When you do speak, address me as ‘Sir,’ and be polite. While at home, you’re allowed to wear your briefs, but only out of deference to Harvey’s parameters. If you were mine, I’d keep you naked at all times.” He grinned, eyes glinting with sharp humor. “Unlike Harvey, I don’t believe in privileges. Your morning discipline will continue as before. What time did Harvey set for it?”

“Five a.m., sir.”

Jake grimaced. “Ugh. How uncivilized. I’m going to push it forward to 7:30. After I introduce you to my spanking bench tomorrow, we’ll go over your chores, but they’re essentially the same as Harvey outlined. Any questions so far?”

“Um, no?” Jake stared patiently down at him. “No, sir.”

“Good. Strip down.”

It took Mike’s brain a full second to catch up with what Jake had just said. Pushing down any weirdness he was feeling – Jake had seen him like this before, after all – he whisked his t-shirt over his head and off, and then stood up, prying his shoes off of his sockless feet, and unfastening his jeans. When he was down to his tight black briefs, he bent over to collect his clothes, assuming Jake would insist that he fold them.

“For tonight,” Jake began, but fell abruptly silent. “What have you done to your knee?” He was frowning at the joint in question.

Mike glanced down to see that the white tape had come loose on one side, and the gauze hung loose, revealing an angry looking scrape with bits of carpet fiber stuck in it. “Oh. Yeah, I banged it up when I wiped out earlier. It’s no big deal.”

“Sit on the bed and let me take a look at it.”

So Mike sat. Jake dropped to one knee in front of him, grasped the back of Mike’s knee with one hand and peeled the bandaging off with the other, gently probing around the edges of the wound with thick, blunt fingers. “You should have said something, Mike. That has to be painful to kneel on.”

Mike shrugged.

Jake shook his head in apparent disapproval. “Don’t move.”

He was up and out of the room before Mike could respond, and returned almost immediately carrying a first aid kit. Mike sat unmoving while Jake cleaned the wound and covered it with a fresh bandage, resolutely ignoring how close Jake’s mouth was to his dick, and how his warm breath wafted over it as he worked. His dick must have gotten an inkling, because it began to plump inside his briefs with aggravating predictability. By the time Jake had finished, and stood up again, Mike was blushing furiously.

If Jake noticed, he didn’t say anything. He grabbed the pillow from the bed and tossed it on the floor. “Have a seat.” He waited while Mike settled at his feet. “Now, I know this isn’t rehab, but I wouldn’t be performing my due diligence if I didn’t take a look in your bag before we go any further.” He dragged the duffel closer to himself, unzipped it, and eyed Mike with one black eyebrow raised. “Am I going to find any contraband in here?”

“No, sir. Assuming that by contraband, you mean drugs or alcohol.”

Jake began pulling out the wadded up clothes that Mike had shoved into the bag. “Packed in a bit of a hurry, I see,” he commented, seeming amused. “When I’m done, you can put all of this away. Hmm. I see you forgot your toothbrush.”

Mike pulled a face. “Shit. Sorry, sir.”

“No worries. I have enough overnight guests that I keep a supply of new ones in the guest bathroom.” The last item he pulled out of the duffel was Mike’s journal. “And what do we have here?” He opened the book and riffled the pages, turning it open side down and shaking it. When nothing fell out, he flipped it around as if he intended to read it.

Mike made an involuntary movement toward Jake. “Please don’t. I mean…. I’d rather you didn’t do that. Sir.” He wasn’t sure why the idea alarmed him so much, but the thought of sharing the words meant for Harvey seemed wrong.

Jake shut the journal and held it between his palms. “No?”

“Hard limit, sir.”

“Ah. I see.” Expression solemn, he handed the book to Mike. “I’ll let you have that one. From now until I hand you back over to Harvey, I’ll demand complete obedience. Don’t forget your veto power, but use it wisely. Tell me your safe word.”

“Red to stop. Yellow to pause.”

“Thank you.” He checked his watch. “It’s after eleven. Normally I’d let you settle in here and get some sleep, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you on your own yet. Get your clothes put away, in the closet and the dresser, use the bathroom across the hall. Grab a toothbrush from the cabinet next to the sink. Then come find me in my bedroom. It’s down the hall on the right. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

As Mike followed Jake’s orders, he tried not to worry too much over what plans Jake had for him in his bedroom. He didn’t have to wait long to find out, at any rate. Jake’s door was open when he approached. He stopped on the threshold and poked his head inside. “All done, sir,” he said.

Jake was standing at his dresser, and turned to face Mike. He wore dark grey pajama pants and nothing else. His magnificent, lightly furred chest invited staring, but after the briefest salacious reconnaissance, Mike looked past Jake to the mattress on the floor next to his bed.

“Usually I have my subs sleep in the dog bed, if I allow them in here at all.” He indicated a round lump in the corner, which consisted of green plaid with a fleece sleeping area. “It’s not uncomfortable, but it also does not generally result in a restful night’s sleep. Another time, maybe, but I think that for tonight, you require a little pampering, so I’m allowing you a thick mattress and ample blankets. However….” He looked Mike up and down, mouth pursed as he seemed to weigh his choices, and then gestured for him to come closer. Grasping Mike’s wrists, he lifted them and examined the leather bracelets that Mike wore. “I recognize these. They’re from Harvey, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. They’ll do.” He rummaged in the top drawer of his dresser and removed a fine, silver chain, about four feet in length. “Hold out your hands. Wrists together. Perfect.” Using the clip on one end of the chain, he fastened the bracelets together. Leading Mike closer to the bed, he then clipped the other end of the chain to a D ring bolted into its wooden frame. “I’m not going to lock it,” he assured Mike. “If you need to free yourself, you can do so easily.” He pointed at the mattress on the floor. “Go on.”

Mike hesitated. The setup reminded him too much of the Docking Station at _Payne._ Jake was waiting, though, and short of breaking out his safe word at the first challenging moment, he had no choice but to obey. He lowered himself onto the sheet-covered mattress, and found that the chain left sufficient slack for him to move around. He sat cross-legged, watching Jake cross the room to the closet and return with two blankets and a comforter.

“These should keep you plenty warm. If you run into any difficulty during the night, just speak my name. I’m a light sleeper. If you get up without asking permission, I’ll hear you, and you’ll find out what punishment from me is like. Do you have any questions?”

Mike hugged the blankets to his chest. “Do you have an alarm in here? So I’ll know when it’s time to get up?”

“I’ll wake you tomorrow. After that, you can use the alarm on your phone. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Get some sleep, then.”

Mike stretched out on the mattress, which turned out to be as comfortable as Jake had promised. He arranged the covers over himself and let out a soft sigh. On the bed, he could hear Jake shift around as he also settled in for the night. “Jake?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. I don’t know what –” The words stuck in his throat and he had to blink rapidly against the sudden sting of unshed tears.

“It’s okay, kid. We’ve all been there. Someday I’ll tell you my story, and believe me, it ain’t pretty. Right now, I want you to close your eyes and get some sleep.”

Mike turned onto his side and the chain clinked lightly. He caught the thin links in one hand and gave a discreet tug, testing his connection to the bed. The restraint was largely symbolic, since he could free himself at any time, but it was enough, providing a reasonable facsimile of the feeling of security and control he’d begun to crave with Harvey. Finally, he could relax again, safe in the knowledge that someone stronger than himself was in charge.

Mike could only assume that Jake had more planned for him than this cozy slumber party. As his breathing slowed, he drowsily wondered what tomorrow would be like, and what delicious torments Jake would inflict on him. A niggle of guilt remained, but Harvey had put him here, and this was what Harvey wanted, so it was all good, right?

He pushed the guilt away and permitted himself to drift to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

"I've moved the knee supports out of the way and adjusted the height, so you can lean over it without putting pressure on your knee."

Mike only half heard Jake. Most of his attention remained focused on the rest of the play room. He had no basis for comparison, but to his eye the room seemed both impressive and comprehensive. The floor was some kind of dark, polished wood, and the walls were pale gold. A few of Jake's framed nude drawings decorated the walls, but they were different than the ones he'd chosen for the front room. These depicted both men and woman in scenes of bondage. Light had flooded through the floor to ceiling windows before Jake closed the blinds.

Mike recognized the St. Andrew's cross, sling and spanking bench. The other furniture was unfamiliar to him, but intrigued him nonetheless. One wall held a neat and extensive display of implements -- crops and whips and paddles and straps and canes and floggers. Mike wished he had the opportunity to examine them more closely, especially the wicked looking bullwhip, but he and Jake were here for a specific purpose.

Fingers snapped in front of his face. "Boy," growled Jake, "stay present when I'm speaking to you, or there will be consequences. Now, assume your position."

"Yes, sir," Mike murmured. He stepped closer to the spanking bench and leaned on top of it so his torso rested along its angled length.

"Rest your arms on the supports," Jake instructed. "Make sure the bulk of your weight is resting on the bench, and not on the floor." He watched while Mike adjusted his posture. Seeming satisfied with what he saw, he walked to the wall, considered his equipment for a moment, and returned carrying a thick leather strap, which he showed to Mike. "This is what I've chosen for your discipline. This morning, you'll receive twenty hits. Before we begin, you'll kiss the strap, and then thank me for my generous attention."

He held the strap in front of Mike, close to his mouth, but far enough away that he still had to strain to reach it. He placed a kiss on the worn leather. "Thank you sir, for your generous attention."

Jake moved behind him. "Count it out."

With no more warning than that, the strapping began. Jake didn't ease into it. The strap landed on Mike's butt with a sharp, decisive _thwack_.

"One," Mike remembered to say.

"Relax your back. Keep breathing."

"Ah! Two."

Jake's arm moved rhythmically, hard and relentless. Harvey was no slouch when it came to ramping up the pain, but Jake was in in a class all his own. He barely seemed to be making an effort, but the strap fell with such force and accuracy, that by the fifth strike, Mike's counting had grown strained and breathless.

" _God._ Six."

The strap fell again, and he groaned and forgot to count out loud.

"Keep counting boy," Jake ordered. "Forget again and I'll start back at one." The kind, patient Jake of the night before had disappeared.

"S-seven." His hands tightened around the edges of the supports. The next blow forced a low grunt out of him. "Eight." He was panting, he realized, and made an effort to slow his breathing down. "N-nine."

With the tenth strike, one foot slipped and Jake tapped it back into place with his own bare foot. Mike took the opportunity to quickly wipe his sweaty forehead against his shoulder.

"Do not break position," Jake snapped.

The strap slapped his butt again, and Mike bit back a sob. "Twelve," he ground out.

Three more strikes, and Mike was seriously considering using his safe word, even as his tears broke free.   For the final five, he was screaming out the count through hiccoughing sobs.

It stopped, finally. Jake stood behind him, not even breathing hard. He waited perhaps twenty seconds before balancing the strap on Mike's lower back and taking unhurried steps toward the equipment wall. Through the blur of his tears, Mike watched him open a cabinet and remove a tube of cream, a spray bottle, and a roll of paper towels. He returned to stand behind Mike, lifted the strap off of him, and began rubbing cream into Mike's flaming bottom, fingers moving over him with quick, impersonal strokes.

"That's a real pretty shade of red," Jake murmured, and Mike was certain his face had turned the same color. "Stand up."

Mike peeled his sweaty body away from the leather bench and staggered when he tried to stand up straight. Immediately, Jake's arms wrapped around his middle, holding him upright, Mike’s back against his chest.

"Harvey wasn’t kidding about you," he chuckled in Mike's ear. "Take some deep breaths. Get some oxygen flowing through your brain again."

After a minute or two, Mike began to feel steadier. "I'm good," he said, and struggled to pull away from Jake, who responded by giving his hair a sharp tug.

"When I say so," he chided. "I'm in charge here."

"Yes, sir." Mike forced himself to stay still, not sure why being held by Jake made him so uncomfortable.

"All right," said Jake, stepping back, but keeping his hands on Mike's shoulders, "do you think you can kneel on just your good knee?" He helped Mike lower himself and nodded approvingly at his posture and position. "A few rules. You're never allowed clothes in this room. Whatever tiny amount of autonomy you believe you possess out there -- " He pointed outside the play room. " -- is nonexistent within these walls. You have no free will in here. My word is law. You don't question, or disobey, or hesitate to follow my orders. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"For the few days you’re with me, in addition to your morning discipline, we'll have a session in the evening. After each morning and evening session, it will be your responsibility to clean any furniture and equipment used, as soon as you’re recovered enough to manage it." He nodded at the floor where he'd set the spray bottle and paper towels. "After you're done cleaning, fix us some breakfast. I'd like an egg white omelet, fruit and black coffee. You may have the same. Once you clean up after breakfast, get dressed. Wear something you don't mind getting dirty. I'm taking you with me to my studio, where you might be of some use to me. Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good." Jake's expression softened, and he stepped closer to place one finger under Mike's chin, prompting him to look up and meet his gaze. "You did well this morning. I do believe spanking that fine ass of yours is quickly going to become one of my favorite things."

With that unsettling admission, he left Mike alone to begin his cleaning.

 

 

"Um, wow," said Mike, gazing around the huge space that was Jake's studio. "Do you make art here, or do high tech blacksmithing? Or would it be blacksmithery?"

"I don't 'make art'. I create. And I wouldn't call it high tech. Lost wax casting is an ancient method, although I’ll grant you that it is updated here with state of the art materials and equipment."

"So where is it all? All the art? I expected more."

Jake gave a rumbling laugh. "I'm lucky enough to work mostly on large commissioned pieces now. Most everything else is currently up in Toronto."

"Oh, right. Harvey said you had an exhibition coming up."

"Yep. We open two weeks from tomorrow. You should ask Harvey to bring you up for a look. I can put you on the list."

"Ah." Mike scratched the back of his head as he followed Jake past half-finished wax figures, and ceiling high racks of supplies and equipment, all neatly labeled. "I'm not exactly allowed back in Canada. Not since The Incident. At least, I don't think I am."

Jake paused in the act of hanging up his leather jacket on a hook. "The Incident? That sounds like a good story."

"Not so much. Just your basic college weekend, road trip, alcohol-fueled, red mist, berserker club rage catastrophe."

"Rage? You?"

"Well, no. But on my behalf. I hit on the wrong guy, and my friend Trevor rescued me from a group shit-kicking."

"I see. All by himself? Must be a good friend."

Mike perched on a stool in front of a table holding a foot high wax model which resembled something like a nude robot doing lunges. He’d forgotten about The Incident until just now, and it did paint Trevor in a heroic light. Maybe he owed him a call. "I guess so. I would have helped him, but I was too busy bleeding and drooling into the sidewalk. The cops broke it up, but we were advised to get the hell out of their country and not come back. So...."

"You should look into that. Most likely it wasn't an official banishment."

Mike shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. "So, do I get to wear a leather apron and one of those cool welder's masks?"

"No. Sorry to disappoint you. I'm still working on the preliminary wax models for this one. Eventually they'll be much larger, and cast in bronze. No molten bronze today, though."

"What's it going to be?"

"There's a new sculpture park under construction in Omaha. They've asked for a series of interconnected works to run the length of the walkway. Have a look."

Jake handed him a pencil sketch on a rolled sheet of graph paper that stretched to over three feet when Mike opened it all the way up. It depicted a dozen nude figures in various poses. He recognized the lunging robot, and as he looked around the room, he matched up several other of the wax models to the sketch. "Cool," he said. "Are they going to be life-sized?"

"Bigger. This one here, for instance." He pointed to a nude female with arms stretched wide, as if preparing to whirl in circles. "She's going to be nine feet tall."

"Wow. So what's my job? Do I get to hand you your scalpels, or exacto knives, or whatever?"

"Nope. Take a look at the third figure from the right on that sketch."

Mike found the one to which Jake had referred. This was definitely the most comical thing on there, showing a young man bent over with his hands flat on the ground. He was collared and leashed, and the other end of the leash was held by what looked like a German shepherd standing on its hind legs. The positioning of the dog behind him would have made Mike nervous if he was the man in the sketch, as there was something vaguely threatening and sexual in the animal's posture. He squinted, looking more closely, and realized that both the animal and the man were sporting erections.

"Heh. That's a little risqué for Omaha, don't you think?"

"Doubtful. But outrage from the local moral decency squad would only boost interest in the piece, and in the park, so I don't think the art board will object." He gave Mike a wicked smile. "How long do you think you could hold that pose?"

His mouth fell open. "What?"

"I brought you here to model for me. Your body type is ideal for this piece, and your thighs look like they could handle a little prolonged strain. I'll tell you what. If you can sustain the pose for an hour, with no breaks, or wobbles, I'll let you pick the piece of equipment I use on you tonight."

Mike squirmed on the stool, gritting his teeth at the flaring pain in his ass. "An hour? Boner included?" he asked.

"Boner included."

"First of all, that's not going to be easy. Second of all, what happens if I lose?"

Jake laughed. "Look at you. Harvey's little junior negotiator. I'll tell you what. You may use your hand to get yourself hard, and I'll provide the cock ring. And if you lose....hmm...if you lose, I get to read your journal."

Mike frowned at that, considering. "There wouldn't be an actual dog present, would there?"

"No."

Mike hummed, as if coming to a decision, as if he wasn’t excited by the whole set up. What didn’t excite him was the possibility of Jake reading his journal. It didn't feel like much of a risk, because no way was he losing the opportunity to browse amongst Jake's implements of torturous delight.

"You've got a deal." He pulled off his t-shirt. "Where do you want me?"

 

Mike had never taken a yoga class in his life, but he soon discovered that what amounted to downward facing dog was not as easy as it looked. The blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy, and the blood that had rushed to his cock earlier rushed back the other way when his arms began to tremble from the strain. It had felt both shameful and exciting to stroke himself to hardness while the other man looked on, but he couldn't sustain his arousal with the stresses his body was currently experiencing.

Lucky for him, Jake only wanted to sketch him, and his pencil flew over the paper with confidence and assurance. Within twenty minutes, he had half a dozen completed studies. Being the sadist that he was, he stood behind Mike and continued drawing until finally Mike had to cry uncle.

"Augh. I-I think...I'm gonna have to call it, sir."

"Are you sure? I have such a marvelous view of your butt. I may have found my new muse. I could draw this for hours."

"Ha ha. Seriously, though, I'm about ready to crumple. I ungraciously concede defeat."

"Would you care to rephrase that?"

"Ah. Yes, sir. Sorry. Glorious victory is yours. May I please get up now?"

"You may." He stepped closer and grasped Mike's hips so that when he straightened, his naked butt was pressed up against Jake's jeans -- and his erection. With one deft motion, he unsnapped Mike's cock ring and removed it.

"Um," said Mike stupidly, as Jake wrapped both arms around his middle.

Jake's lips teased the sensitive skin underneath Mike's ear. "Almost makes me wish I'd selected a different prize," he purred, making Mike freeze.

"I don't think...I mean...Harvey wouldn't agree to this."

Jake sighed, blowing warm air across Mike's neck and ear and making him shiver. He released Mike with obvious reluctance. "No, he wouldn't. Shame. Well, with that off the table, I do need to get some other work done today, and I need your distracting self out of the way. Which works out well, since I think some serious down time would do you a world of good. Starting now, no more talking."

He walked between two of the high shelves and returned dragging a large metal roofed dog crate, constructed of thin, sturdy bars. "This has served as an effective shortcut of sorts for some of my subs in the past, so let's see how you respond." He found a blanket, and used it to line the bottom of the cage. "How are you doing? Thirsty? Need to use the bathroom?"

Mike shook his head, staring at the cage and trying to slow his suddenly thudding heart. The thought of folding himself up and crawling into what looked like a microscopic space filled him with barely leashed panic. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, swallowing his protest. He told himself he was being stupid. The cage contained plenty of room. He could see perfectly well through the bars, and unless Jake placed a padlock on the door, it would be easy enough to let himself out. Why couldn't he seem to draw an adequate breath?

"Mike? Is everything all right?"

"Uh." Remembering he wasn't allowed to talk, he nodded jerkily. Before Jake could question him further, Mike ignored his injured knee and dropped to all fours to crawl the several feet to the cage. As he made his unsteady progress, and the cage loomed closer, he imagined he could hear his uneven breaths whooshing and echoing inside his head like angry ghosts.

The bottom of the door was not flush with the floor, presenting a three inch high barrier of metal, so Mike had to move into a crouch to cross the threshold. His head brushed the barred ceiling, sending an almost painful surge of panicked adrenaline through his chest. He gulped air and squeezed his eyes shut. Curling into himself, he lay down on the blanket, careful not to butt up against the sides of the cage. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his ankle.

"Mike?" came Jake's gentle voice. "Talk to me. You have my permission. What's going on?"

"It's okay," Mike managed, between one painful breath and the next. Then, more strongly, "I'm fine. It's all good."

A pause, while Jake seemed to consider whether or not to believe him. "Would you like me to leave the door open?"

Mike blew out a breath, and sucked in another one. "No. No, I'm okay. Sometimes small spaces freak me out a little, but I'm past the worst of it."

"Then open your eyes and look at me."

Mike obeyed, and found Jake down on one knee, eyeing him with concern. Seeing now how closely the cage enclosed him, Mike couldn't prevent a soft whimper from escaping. He clamped his lips together and rearranged his face into a smile. Judging by the look on Jake's face, it didn't have the desired effect of assuring him that Mike was not on the edge of coming unglued.

"Mike, are you claustrophobic?"

"Little bit," he panted, nodding rapidly.

" _Shit_. Come on out of there."

Now Mike's head switched direction, shaking in the negative. "I can do this. Let me try. Please." He wasn't entirely sure why he was arguing for this.   Maybe he wanted to prove to Jake that he could be a good boy. If he could just keep his eyes closed, and pretend he was somewhere else....

Jake gave an unhappy sounding sigh, but surprisingly, he relented. "I'll give you a few minutes before I pull the plug, but first let's see if we can't reprogram your fear with something more pleasant. Lie on your back, with your legs bent, feet flat on the ground."

Mike carefully rearranged himself to Jake's specifications, feeling the panic ebb and flow in his chest. "C-can I keep my eyes closed?"

"Does that help? All right then, I'll allow it for the moment. Now, listen to my voice. Imagine yourself at home, on your bed."

_Which bed? What home?_ Mike brushed those thoughts away, and settled for picturing himself lying on Harvey's bed, inhaling his scent.

"Take yourself in your hand. That's right, take your dick in your hand. Just hold it, don't squeeze. Good. Slide your hand up and down, slowly, gently. Focus on how that feels. Forget everything else and focus on the pleasurable sensations. Play with yourself. Touch yourself wherever it feels good. Take it slow. Don't rush it. I want you to keep yourself hard and wanting more, but don't push it too close to the edge."

Mike stroked himself, teasing his nipples with his other hand, pinching and rubbing. His labored breathing eased, and then grew labored all over again, but for a different reason. He worked his thumb across the tip of his cock, teasing the slit, and gathering pre-come, which he swiped down the underside. He hadn't been allowed to touch himself like this in weeks, and it felt fucking wonderful.

He sighed and went back to sliding the loose circle of his palm up and down his swelling cock. He realized he'd forgotten about the cage, and then experienced a twinge of alarm as he remembered it again. He kept stroking, and reached a hand down to play with his balls. He used two fingers to press at his puckered entrance, squirming at the shivery thrill that shot through him.

"Yeah," he whispered, and bit his lip to stop any more words from spilling out, settling instead for soft, breathy moans and raspy groans.

So engrossed was he in chasing his own pleasure, that he momentarily forgot that he had an audience. A chair moved suddenly, screeching across the concrete floor, and Mike's eyes fluttered open. He was only dimly aware that his confinement no longer bothered him.

Ten feet away, Jake had pushed his chair back from the wax figure he was working on. His avid gaze was fixed on Mike, one big hand pressed against the bulge in his jeans. When he saw that Mike's eyes were open, a slow, filthy grin appeared within his beard. "Christ, with you and a webcam, I could make a fortune."

Mike groaned at the image Jake's words produced, of anonymous strangers watching him like this. He arched his back and stroked faster, breathing through his nose as he pressed his lips together, trying to hold back the needy sounds that fought to break loose.

"I'm not sure," said Jake, voice strained, "if Harvey would approve, but right now, I don't give a fuck. I'm going to stay over here, you're going to keep doing what you're doing, and in..." He glanced at his watch. "In three minutes, we're both going to come together."

Jake unzipped himself and pulled out his massive cock. Mike licked his lips as he admired the blood-dark, thickly veined monster, which stood at intimidating attention as Jake moved his hand on it, in sync with Mike's. Imagining that thing inside him made Mike groan, even as his ass spasmed nervously. The hand on his cock sped up. With his other hand, he fingered himself open, grinding down and gasping at the sensation.

"Two minutes," Jake gritted out. "Let me hear you over there." He had his legs stretched out in front of him, head slightly back. His hand made a subtle smacking sound as it moved over his cock.

He must have used pre-come to lubricate himself, Mike thought hazily. He sped up some more, almost too much, and gave a low shout as he clamped down roughly at the base of is cock. He stopped both hands, breathing slowly to pull himself back from the edge. A brief memory cut through his chaotic thoughts, of Saturday night at _Payne_ , and how expertly Harvey had worked his body.

"Keep that hand moving," panted Jake. "One minute and counting."

Was there a penalty for finishing too soon? Jake hadn't said, and at that point Mike didn't care. He jacked himself with enthusiastic concentration, never taking his eyes from Jake and his porntastic performance.  

"Ten seconds," Jake panted. How did he even have the presence of mind to keep track? "Now, boy. Aahh. Come now."

The last word was forced out on a rising note that cut off with a strangled sound as Jake curled around himself and continued pumping as come spurted past his fingers. If Mike hadn't already been on the verge, that sight alone would have sent him flying over the edge. He arched up with eyes squeezed shut and let go, feeling as if his spine had turned to molten bronze.

" _Harvey,_ " he heard himself whisper brokenly as he decorated his hand and belly with come. He dropped boneless onto the blanket, and at that moment, he wouldn't have known or cared if the already confining walls of the cage collapsed on him.

 

******

 

_When we got back to Jake's place in time for me to fix us a late lunch (protein shakes), I offered him my journal, since he'd won it fair and square. He gave me kind of a weird smile and shook his head. "Naw, kid. A hard limit's a hard limit. I only meant to give you incentive."_

_Like I said: weird. It didn't take long until he was back to his quintessentially Jakey self, though. Despite my loud and piteous protests, he forced me to have a driving lesson with him -- in the real world no less. What a concept. He had me drive him around the neighborhood in his pickup truck. It wasn't that bad. Practical man that he is, Jake has an automatic transmission. When I asked him why, he said he lived in freaking Manhattan, not Colorado. I could totally see him there, though, somewhere with mountains and big ass trees._

_***_

_In the interest of honesty, I have to tell you that I jacked myself off in front of Jake, while he did the same. He was all the way across the room, though. I thought of you the entire time. I'm not kidding._

_***_

_You're probably bored with my lengthy reminisces in here, so today I'll start a list. Perhaps I'll expand on some things later._

_Moral Inventory:_

_I'm opinionated._

_Sometimes I think I'm smarter than everyone else._

_I’m addicted to snark._

_I can't fight for shit._

_I’ve been a chronic liar and cheater._

_I'm cowardly about certain things, like driving, and being alone, and small spaces. (That last one might be fixed after today.)_

_I never told Grammy how much I appreciated her. I tried to show it, sometimes, but when Trevor offered me a place to stay, I defied her and left her alone. She started getting sick right after that._

_I might have killed Grammy._

_***_

_Whew. Oh fuck me. Where did that come from? Do I really think that? That I'm responsible for Grammy's death?_

_***_

_Speaking of guilt, here’s something I’ve never admitted to anyone before: I always felt guilty about my parents' death. I wanted to go see the movie_ Mars Attacks _but they said I was too young. Which I was. I took off without telling anyone and walked to a theater an hour away that I thought would let me in. Well, they didn't. They called my folks to come and get me. And…I’m sure you can guess the rest. I waited for hours, but they never showed up. When I finally walked home in the dark, Grammy was waiting for me, about half out of her mind with grief and worry. I think she would have slapped me if she hadn’t felt so sorry for me._

_They had to cut my parents out of the car. The police report says my mother was alive for at least ten minutes after the crash. I used to dream about her trapped in that small space, staring over at her dead husband, unable to move, knowing she was dying._

_I have a pretty good imagination, but I can’t imagine a worse way to die._

_Except…dying next to the person you love most in the world, staring at their face…maybe it wasn’t so bad as all that._

_***_

_I hope you’re getting everything straightened out in Chicago. I have to go fix Jake his dinner now. It will probably involve quinoa and wheatgrass and gluten free gluten, or some shit like that. How the hell does the man maintain his superhero physique eating like that?_

_After dinner, it’s back to the play room. I’ll let you know how that goes. Wait, you probably already know exactly how that goes._

_Which reminds me. I was checking out the collection of nudes on the wall in Jake’s living room. I’m pretty sure one of them is you. The face was turned away, but the body seemed familiar. Can you confirm or deny? Jake wasn’t any help. He threatened to frame a picture of my naked ass and put it up there if I didn’t quit bothering him._

_For an artist, he seems to spend a fair amount of his time on the computer, e-mailing his accountant and publicist, and answering inquiries. He does look cute though, with those reading glasses perched on the end of his nose._

_(He’s glaring at me. Gotta go. Bye.)_

******

 

“Don’t sag. Stand up straight.”

Jake moved into Mike’s peripheral vision. It was a struggle not to turn his head to look at him, but he already knew the penalty for that. Jake had selected one of his floggers for him tonight, but he’d also kept a riding crop close at hand to punish Mike for any mistakes. Mike fucking hated that crop.

“You’re thinking too much,” Jake admonished. “I want you to feel. Submit, accept and feel. Feel the tightness of the cuffs around your wrists and ankles, the subtle strain in your shoulders. Feel the smooth, cool wood of the cross against your body. Feel every individual tail of the flogger against your back.”

He moved back behind Mike and half a second later the flogger fell against his back once more. Mike fought against the urge to roll his shoulders, or curse, or beg for more. He almost wished Jake had gagged him.

Whatever Jake saw must have satisfied him, because he didn’t pause this time to correct Mike. He stood behind him and swung the flogger, back and forth, one side and then the other, up to Mike’s shoulders, down to his ass. The strikes fell so evenly they became almost hypnotic. Slowly but surely, the heat on his skin built, the gentle tingling growing into a throbbing burn, until Mike couldn’t contain his low grunts.

“That’s right,” Jake encouraged him. “Starting to feel it, aren’t you, boy? I’ll continue warming you up for another five minutes, and then you’ll get your first feel of my single tail.”

Five minutes didn’t sound like a long time, but by the end of it, Mike was sweating freely and yelling each time the flogger struck. Jake set the instrument out of the way, and offered Mike some water. He gulped at it greedily as Jake held the bottle for him.

“You’re taking it beautifully,” Jake murmured, running a hand down Mike’s back. “Your pretty pale skin….Let’s see how it looks marked up with the whip.”

Mike couldn’t prevent the shiver that ran through him at Jake’s words. He had an image of his first sight of Jake at _Payne_ , using the single tail on Lucy.

And then, with a sharp _crack!_ the first strike fell, high on his back. A surprised cry burst from his throat, because that _fucking hurt._ Maybe Jake had meant to shock him, because the next several strikes were less intense. They flicked across his back and upper arms. He panted, trying to stay relaxed, as Jake had instructed him. It wasn’t easy, with the hot licks of pain striping his flesh.

Jake moved lower, to Mike’s ass and upper thighs. He didn’t spend long there, probably all too aware of the bruising he’d inflicted on Mike’s ass that morning. The whip traveled back to his upper body, and the intensity increased. Mike’s hands cramped and he realized he had clenched them into fists. He opened them back up, slowed his breathing, and let the sensations play over him.

Something inside him – something fearful and tightly wound – let go, and all at once he was flying, welcoming the whip rather than flinching away from it. Time slowed, and then fell away. He existed for Harvey. This was what he was made for. With each crack of the whip, he imagined he could feel his blood heat and surge to the surface, that he could hear it sing some dark, ancient melody that hovered just on the edge of memory.

Closing his eyes, he sagged into the cross, resting his cheek against it. Someone spoke urgently in his ear and he smiled.

“Thank you, Master,” he slurred. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His bonds were removed, and he might have fallen, but strong arms held him and laid him down on the bed. After long minutes, he opened his eyes and found Jake sitting next to him, running a hand through Mike’s sweaty hair.

_Wait. That wasn’t right_. Mike frowned. It should be Harvey here, not Jake.

“Have some more water,” Jake urged, handing him the bottle.

Mike sat up and drank deeply, feeling disoriented. He eyed Jake sidewise, trying to decipher his serious expression. Was he angry? Worried?

“I do that sometimes,” Mike blurted out. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hush.” Jake dragged a blanket closer and draped it around Mike’s shoulders before wrapping one arm around him.

Mike leaned against Jake, pressing his lips together. Maybe Jake hadn’t noticed, and Mike wasn’t sure whether he wanted to make an issue of it. Something teased at his memory though, and after a few minutes, he raised his head. “Permission to speak, sir?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“That sub you were with the first time we met. Lucy?”

“Lovely girl. What about her?”

Mike felt uncomfortable bringing it up, but he had to know. “She, uh, she called you ‘Master’.”

“Did she? What of it?”

“Just that you’re not. Not her Master, I mean. Harvey says you like to play the field, or whatever you Doms call it. Is it usual, or acceptable for a casual partner to do that?”

Jake gave him a half-smile. “I could claim that I always inspire that sort of devotion in my subs. Careful. You’re not allowed to laugh at me in here. Actually, though, some subs simply respond that way when they’re deep into subspace.”

“Could it be dangerous?”

Jake frowned down at him. “Dangerous? I don’t know about that. For a less experienced sub – or Dom, for that matter – it could lead to misunderstandings and hurt feelings. That’s a danger in any type of relationship, though. I wouldn’t make too much of it if I were you. As long as you communicate your feelings and fears to your Dom, you should be fine.” He gave Mike a shrewd look. “I take it I’m not the only one you’ve gifted with the title.”

Mike pulled away and put a little distance between them. “Look, don’t get me wrong, sir. I like you, and you’re great at all of…this.” He indicated the room around them. “It’s been fantastic so far.”

“But?”

“But that’s as far as it goes with me.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. But I think I’ve screwed up with Harvey.”

“How so?”

“I have all these…these… _feelings_ for him. You’re right. I called him Master the other night, and I don’t think he appreciated it at all. And just now? I forgot it was you back there. I imagined I was with Harvey. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I just…I don’t know. When I’m with him I want to fall at his feet and, and, lick his fucking toes or something equally ridiculous. I’m completely out of my depth. He doesn’t feel the same way. To Harvey, I’m this rickety little fixer-upper he’s…flipping, or whatever.”

“Hm.” Jake placed a hand on Mike’s leg, as if trying to keep him grounded. “Is he aware of how you feel?”

“Pretty much. I mean, he’s not stupid. He says it’s simple transference. The guy probably feels sorry for me.”

“You’ve been with him how long? Two weeks?”

Mike blushed. “I know, right? I’m an idiot.”

But Jake was shaking his head. “No you’re not. It’s an intense sort of relationship under the best of circumstances, and from what Harvey has told me, the two of you have moved fast, faster than I probably would have recommended, if Harvey had ever bothered to ask my opinion. Give him some time. I’ve told you before that he’s stubborn. And although he’s made huge progress since I first met him, he still does not do emotions as well as some people. You, on the other hand, are practically a live wire where your emotions are concerned. You feel everything quick and fast, and it’s all right there on your face for anyone to see.”

“You’re saying I should pull back?”

“Not at all. Be yourself. Remain authentic. Continue to be honest with him. Have some patience, and I’m betting he might surprise you.”

Mike wasn’t so sure about that. He gave Jake a smile, though. “Sure. Maybe. Should I go ahead and get cleaned up in here?”

Jake’s serious expression didn’t change, but he nodded. “As soon as you feel up to it. By the way, you responded wonderfully tonight. Better than I could have hoped for. Harvey’s going to need to get over here to refresh his skills, because he’s going to have to step up his game with you.”

Mike nodded, all the while thinking that Harvey didn’t need to change a goddamn thing, as far as Mike was concerned.

 

******

 

Not much later, Jake told him to go to bed. This time, he sent him to sleep alone in the tiny bedroom (which seemed almost spacious after the dog cage.) He finally gave Mike his phone back, so he could set the alarm for the morning session.

Alone in the room, with the door closed, Mike crawled under the covers, still holding the phone in his hand. What he privately referred to as his “mental whiteboard,” currently had Trevor’s new phone number neatly printed on it. His heart rate accelerated as he debated whether or not to place the call. He tapped in all of the digits, and let his index finger hover over the “call” button.

Technically, the terms of his parole forbade him from contacting former associates related to the taking or trafficking of drugs, but Trevor had left town before his involvement ever became official knowledge. Plus, it was only a phone call.

Mike tapped the screen and put the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. Glancing at the door, he pulled the covers over his head, and burrowed under the pillow, hoping these countermeasures would be enough to muffle the conversation. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to Jake why he was calling his old friend.

After a few seconds, the call connected.

“Yeah?” Trevor’s voice, hopeful and wary. Loud, unfamiliar music played in the background.

“Hey, fuckface, it’s me.”

“What? Who is this? You’ll have to speak up.”

“I said,” Mike grated, trying to add force to his voice without raising the volume, “it’s me. Mike.”

“Mikey? Oh, shit, dude. I’m so glad to hear from you. Hang on a second.”

Mike heard footsteps, grumbling, an opening door, followed a loud click, and then the music cut off.

“Sorry, I’m at this tavern with a shit band playing loud enough to make my ears bleed, but I’ve moved outside. How are you? Did you get my postcard?”

“Obviously.”

“Oh, right. My new number. Are you staying out of trouble?”

“It’s surprisingly easy, with you gone.” He regretted his words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth, but Trevor only laughed.

“Yeah, Mikey. Sorry about all that. Look, you couldn’t have called at a better time. I have an opportunity – ” Someone cursed loudly nearby. “Hey, shut the fuck up! I’m on the phone here.” He laughed again. “Fucking animals. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. I need that money. I looked into it already, and you can wire it to me in the morning. There’s this place three blocks from where I’m staying….”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on. Time out. What money are you talking about? The cops interrupted the buy. They confiscated the briefcase. You know all this.”

“Oh, hell no. I can’t believe you, man.” Mike could tell he was getting angry. “I never expected this from you. Anybody but you. I left you the key. There were instructions in the storage unit. Simple, straightforward instructions. I had a buyer waiting and ready to go. You were supposed to sell that shit and stash the money somewhere safe.” He kept talking, voice steadily rising, until Mike finally interrupted him.

“Trevor. Trevor! Shut up a second. I don’t know what you’re talking about. The only key you left for me was for your apartment. By the time they released me from lockup and I got the chance to head over there, they’d already changed the locks and were getting ready to rent it out again. You never mentioned any storage unit.”

“Ah, fuck. Goddamn it. Snake was supposed to pass you the message.”

Mike blinked rapidly, almost giving in to hysterical laughter. “ _Snake?_ You know somebody named Snake? I got the key in an envelope at work. There was no note with it. I assumed it was your apartment key. Maybe Mr. _Escape from New York_ decided to cut his own deal.”

“He wouldn’t. He’s too stupid to think for himself. Anyway, I never told him where it was. You gotta get over there and check on the unit. Rent’s paid through the end of the year. You still have the key, right?”

Mike pictured his key ring, sitting on the nightstand. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Thank God. I’m serious, though. If that shit’s not in there, I’m screwed. I need to pay off some guys when I get back. If I can’t do that, I can never come home.”

“Why would you want to? For all I know, the cops are still looking for you.” Impatiently, he dragged the pillow off of his head, swiped away the covers, and stood up so he could pace around the room. “Just stay in Seattle. No one’s going to find you there. I won’t tell anyone where you are. Get a job. Earn a living like a normal person. Find a girl. Get married and have a few kids.” He let out a burst of pent up laughter. “Just say no to drugs.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Mike knew Trevor hadn’t hung up, because he could hear him breathing, and could hear short bursts of music as the door to the tavern presumably opened and closed.

“I hate it here,” Trevor finally confessed, voice low and desperate. “It fucking rains all the time. The people here just don’t _get_ me. I miss home.”

A slow, trembling anger took hold of Mike as he listened to Trevor. “Poor, fucking Trevor. No one understands him. He has it so rough. God, it’s always about you, isn’t it? You managed to trash my life, not once, but twice. I aided and abetted you, sure, but have you spared more than half a second to consider how I’m doing here? I almost went to prison. I could still go, if I take one step in the wrong direction. You fucking ruined me, and I wish I’d never met you!”

He was practically screaming by the time he finished, and shouldn’t have been surprised when the door burst open to reveal a pissed off Jake in pajama pants. Jake snapped his fingers and pointed at the ground, and Mike dropped like a rock onto his knees, still clutching the phone to his ear. Jake stalked over to him and held out his hand. With no thought of objecting, Mike handed Jake the phone. He could still hear Trevor’s irate squawks of denial on the other end.

“Stop,” Jake demanded into the phone, and the squawks cut off. “Now, to whom am I speaking?”

The phone had gone quiet, and Mike could only imagine Trevor’s reaction at suddenly hearing a new voice.

“Trevor. I see. Me?” said Jake, one eyebrow arching up. “Not that it makes one bit of difference to you, but my name is Jake, and I’m a friend of Mike’s. No, we’re not, but he is currently a guest in my home. What I’d like to know is, what have you done to upset him to the point of interrupting my sleep?”

He listened some more, expression darkening by the second. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Yes. I see. No, believe me, I do see, better than you might like. I’m going to have to ask you not to bother him again. He’s made some changes in his life recently, and you and your lifestyle are not a part of them.” He turned to stare at Mike as Trevor raged at him over the phone. “I’ll give him the message. But here’s a message for you. Mike’s sobriety is important to him, and he doesn’t need you damaging that. You are not to call him again. Oh, he did? Irrelevant. No more contact. Period.”

Trevor’s voice could still be heard as Jake disconnected the call.

For several minutes, Jake’s silence seemed to weigh down on Mike, making him want to flinch, or hide. He stayed where he was, though, not breaking position, and finally Jake moved. He set Mike’s phone on the nightstand and stood with his hands on his hips, a look of disappointment on his face. Anger, Mike could have handled. The disappointment made him want to cry.

“Trevor would like you to know,” Jake finally said, “that if you don’t wire him his money by Friday, he’ll chance it and come back to take care of things himself.”

Mike’s shoulders slumped. _Shit_. That was just like Trevor. Reckless and manipulative. He knew full well how Mike would respond to that threat. Hopefully, Jake hadn’t guessed.

He jumped when he felt Jake’s hand on his head. He grabbed Mike’s hair and pulled his head back to glare down at him. Mike shivered, welcoming the pain.

“Would you care to enlighten me as to what in the hell is going on?” asked Jake. “Let’s start with you telling me why you thought it was a good idea to call him tonight?”

Mike swallowed past his parched throat. “I got a postcard from him on Monday with his new number. I wasn’t going to call him, I swear, but then we were talking about him today, and it got me thinking about all the times he’d come through for me, or just been there…been my friend. So I caved and called him.”

“What is this money he’s talking about?”

“I don’t know. He thought I was going to sell something for him, but I never got the message.”

“Something? What are we talking about here? Drugs?”

“Yeah. Weed, probably. As far as I know, he never branched out to anything else.”

“Listen to me carefully. Trevor may have been your friend, you may still consider him one, and although that sort of loyalty is to be commended, you cannot afford it right now. Trevor’s problems are not your problems. You have to take care of yourself. And never forget, you have Harvey, and me, to take care of whatever you can’t handle on your own. Even after Harvey returns, I want you to know that you can call me up whenever you need to. You have options. Just get it through your head that keeping Trevor in your life is not one of them.” He gave Mike’s hair another sharp tug. “Understood?”

Mike breathed out slowly, trying to release the resentment he felt at Jake’s pronouncement. “Yes, sir,” he murmured, keeping his eyes lowered.

Jake sighed and released him, taking a step back. “Go to sleep, Mike. No more phone calls.”

“Understood, sir.”

Jake left the room, leaving the door open.

Mike waited ten minutes, giving Jake time to get resettled, listening to the apartment grow quiet again. Then, he reached for his phone and fired off a quick text to Trevor, ignore his galloping heartbeat and sweaty palms.

_Text me the address of the storage unit. I’ll see what I can do. No promises. Don’t do anything until you hear from me._

He sent the text, set his phone down, picked it up again and deleted the text history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a nasty little cold this week, resulting in a chapter half as long as intended. Harvey was supposed to get back in this chapter, but that won't happen until the next one.
> 
> Thanks for all the great comments on the last chapter. Much appreciated!

Mike woke to find two new texts on his phone. One was from Trevor, giving him the address and access code for a storage unit in Brooklyn, which he memorized and deleted. The second text was from Harvey.

_Have you been behaving yourself?_

Harvey had sent it after midnight, New York time. Mike thought about how to answer him. He didn't intend to lie to him about contacting Trevor, but decided maybe it would be better to wait until Harvey got back in town to get into all that. There didn't seem any point in giving him more to worry about while he was in the middle of sorting out whatever emergency had sent him on the trip.

_Of course,_ he finally responded.

Several seconds later, he received a reply: _Funny, that's not what Jake tells me._

Mike knew then that his goose was cooked. He thought about not answering. That would only make things worse, he knew, so he tapped rapidly on the screen, all the while uncomfortably aware that the time had already ticked over to 7:33, and he was late for his morning discipline.

_(Mike) Whoops. You got me. I called Trevor. I'll accept whatever punishment you choose._

_(Harvey) Yes. You will. Do better today._

_(Mike) Yes, Sir._

He visited the bathroom, figuring he was already late, and therefore already in hot water with Jake. As he emptied his bladder, it occurred to him that if Jake and Harvey talked last night, Jake now knew exactly what Trevor had been to Mike, and the role he'd played in Mike's current predicament.

When he entered the play room, he found the big man leaning against the wall, tapping the leather strap against one palm.

"Did I," Jakes asked softly, "somehow give you the impression that tardiness was acceptable?"

Mike dropped down to his knees. "No, sir. I apologize."

Jake began a slow prowl, circling Mike and every so often slapping the strap against his own open palm for emphasis. "I spoke to Harvey last night. You don't appear surprised. I'll take that as confirmation that this is why you're late this morning. Harvey filled me in on a few details about Trevor which you chose to withhold." He stopped in front of Mike and placed the strap under his chin, forcing his gaze up to Jake's. "Do you believe you deserve punishment for this lapse?"

Mike swallowed and nodded miserably. "Yes, sir."

He heard a thin buzz, and Jake moved away to pick up his phone, which had been sitting on a small table near the door. Jake read whatever message had arrived, and then shut the phone off and put it back on the table.

"Looks like you had a chance to come clean with Harvey on your own, and you didn't take it."

_Crap crap crap. Fucking Doms were double-teaming him, and not in a fun way._

Jake was talking again. "Harvey was going to wait until he got home to punish you. He still is, but since you compounded your misbehavior by attempting to withhold information -- which amounts to a lie -- Harvey has given me the green light to dish out a down payment of sorts."

Mike let his shoulders sag, hating that he'd messed up again.

"We'll start with your regular twenty hits with the strap. You should consider this a mercy, as it will warm you up for what comes next."

_What comes next?_ Mike wanted to ask, but he bit the inside of his lip to keep his mouth closed. The weight of failure sat inside his chest, cold and heavy.

"You're going to get your first feel of my cane. This isn't for pleasure. Make no mistake, it's going to hurt. You'll receive five strikes. That may not sound like much, but I wouldn't grow too complacent if I were you. You're going to remember each and every one of those strikes for a good long time. If you safeword -- which is your right -- we'll came back tomorrow with double the amount. I wouldn't recommend going that route."

At Jake's nod, Mike climbed onto the spanking bench, fighting anticipatory dread. This time, the knee supports were in place, and he clumsily arranged himself, kneeling to lean over the padded center, and grasping the hand supports. Unlike the previous day, Jake used the attached cuffs to restrain him at wrist and ankles. Mike kissed the leather strap and thanked Jake, and then his discipline was underway.

He counted out the hits with a grim sort of concentration, struggling to remember that Jake had deemed this merciful warmup to what was to follow. It didn’t _feel_ merciful. It did, however, seem to go more quickly this morning, perhaps because Mike wanted it to last as long as possible to delay the caning.

He counted out the final hit, and kissed the strap once more. Jake laid the strap on the table next to his phone and moved to the wall to select a cane. He had at least half a dozen of them, in varying sizes, colors and, presumably, materials. It made no difference to Mike which one he chose. He had no idea what would hurt the least -- or the most.

When Jake returned to the bench, he placed a hand on Mike's lower back. "The strike of a cane is sometimes referred to as a cut. When it contacts your bottom, it may feel like an actual cut, but rest assured: I'm skilled enough at this that it won't break your skin. I've had subs describe the feeling as being struck with a fiery sword, or a sharp slice of lightning. After the initial strike, you'll likely feel a second aftershock of pain. In order to truly drive the lesson home, I'll pause between each cut to allow the sensation to develop fully."

He dragged the tip of the cane slowly down the center of Mike's back, across one buttock, down his leg and off.

"Your thoughts should stay focused on the reason for your punishment. Tell me, why are we doing this?"

It took Mike a few moments to formulate his reply, but Jake stood patiently, allowing him the time he needed. "Because," he said slowly, "I contacted a prior drug associate. I withheld information from you, and lied to Harvey." His face gave a sudden spasm of grief and hopelessness. "Because I'm such a very bad boy."

"You're not bad," Jake corrected softly. "You made a mistake. I'm here to help you remember not to make that mistake again."

He held the cane in front of Mike's face. "Kiss it."

Mike obeyed, and a shiver ran through him. _Fear? Excitement?_ Both, perhaps.

"I'm a bit of a traditionalist," Jake continued, conversationally. "I'd like you to count each strike, thank me, and ask for another."

That caused another shudder to course through Mike, which had little to do with fear. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

Jake went to stand behind him. The air _whished_ several times as Jake took some warmup swings, or perhaps tried to build up dread inside of Mike of what was to come -- as if he needed more dread.

Then the cane came down, lashing across his lower bottom. The initial sensation shocked Mike into momentary muteness. It was as if a super-heated, finely honed knife had sliced through him, and it took his nerve endings half a second to acknowledge the pain. When they did, he gave a strangled scream.

"God. _Shit."_ And then, "One," he remembered to say. He groaned as the searing pain seemed to drill down inside of him. "Thank you, sir," he rasped. "Another, please."

As he'd promised, Jake waited. It was a diabolical sort of torture, forcing Mike to anticipate the next cut. The pain had just begun to recede when Jake struck again, close to his first target.

"Two," Mike gasped. He panted harshly, feeling tears prick his eyes. "Thank you, sir. Another. Please."

He waited, fighting the instinct to struggle in his bonds. Tremors of reaction ran through his body.

"Relax," soothed Jake. He gave Mike's calf a reassuring squeeze.

Mike wanted to obey him, so much, but his nerves were strung so tightly that the shivering continued. He blew out a long, slow breath, inhaled, and did it again.

He was anticipating it, but still the next strike took him by surprise. He jerked and gave a harsh yell as pain sliced through him again. " _God." It fucking hurt._ His need to be good overrode the pain, and so he thanked Jake again, and asked for another.

The pause between strikes seemed longer this time. Before the next strike fell, he'd begun to sob brokenly. His, "Four," came out on a wail. "Oh god. Th-thank you, sir. May I please have another? P-please. _Please."_

"Last one," Jake murmured gently.

Silence stretched as Mike waited. _Accept this_ , he told himself. _You did this to yourself. This pain is your creation._

He took the final cut with barely a flinch. "Thank you, sir." He sniffed a few more times, and sagged with relief.

As Jake whispered words of praise and massaged analgesic cream into his bottom, which continued to throb hotly, he felt a weird sort of pride. He'd survived this. He could have survived more.

Which was good, because when Jake -- and more importantly, Harvey -- found out what he still intended to do, five strikes with Jake's cane would probably feel like a vacation in comparison to his next punishment.

 

******

 

Although Mike had spent the months since his arrest actively striving to behave honestly, and within the law, he had evidently retained some skill in lying and dissembling. After breakfast (which he ate naked and standing up, to spare his abused bottom more pain), he mentioned to Jake that he hadn't worked out for a few days. Since Jake's building did not include a gym, Mike asked for and received permission to return to Harvey's building. Jake dropped him off there on the way to his studio, handing him cab fare and a key, and instructing him to return on his own once he was done.

Before he drove off, he gave Mike a long look, and then passed him his phone. "No calls to Trevor," he said.

"No, sir. Of course not."

Mike rode the elevator up to Harvey's condo and quickly located the keys to the sports car he knew was parked under the building. This part of his plan was the most nerve wracking. His driving experience was nowhere near where it needed to be to easily navigate the busy traffic of Manhattan, but he was determined, and pushed down all the panic he was feeling, telling himself he would give in to it later, after he'd completed his task.

He stalled four times trying to back out of the parking space, and then three more times before he exited the garage. He settle down after that, and somehow made it to Brooklyn, sweating and trembling, but in one piece

The storage facility was easy enough to find. He stopped at the front gate, punched in the access code, waited for the gate to open, stalled the car twice, and finally lurched through the opening. After locating the correct building, he parked, rode the elevator to the third floor, searched through dim and dusty hallways for Trevor's unit, and finally unlocked the padlock and pulled the door open to the accompaniment of a loud creak, which sounded appropriately ominous.

He switched on the overhead bulb, which flickered and then steadied. A black and grey gym back sat in the middle of the four by four foot space, covered in dust and cobwebs. Mindful of surveillance cameras in the hallway, Mike entered the unit and closed the door. Squatting, he unzipped the bag, parted the sides, and then yanked his hands back, as if from a venomous snake coiled and ready to strike. Underneath a sealed envelope with his name on it, something like twenty shrink-wrapped, kilo-sized bricks of pot were stuffed inside the bag.

The sweet, musty scent of it hit his nostrils and seemed to go straight to the reasoning center of his brain. He had a sudden, sharp image of himself rolling a joint and smoking up. He wanted it so badly that his hands shook.

He reminded himself that even one hit of the stuff could seal his doom, sabotaging his piss test, revoking his parole, sending him to prison and -- what felt like the worst consequence of all -- severing his contract with Harvey.

_Not worth it. Not fucking worth it._ He still craved it, though.

To distract himself, he stared down at his wrists, at the leather bracelets that encircled each one. He rubbed one with the ball of his thumb, shut his eyes, and called up Harvey's face, which scowled back at him, eyes inky pools of concern. Harvey had been gone less than three full days, but to Mike it felt like much more than that.

After a few minutes, the sharp craving dulled, and he told himself to get a grip. He needed to take care of this situation and get himself back to Jake's place, the faster the better.

He picked up the envelope, recognizing Trevor's messy scrawl, and squat-walked backwards to drop down, back against the wall. He flinched when his butt contacted the floor, but the pain barely registered. With still trembling fingers, he opened the envelope to find a name, a phone number, and a dollar amount that made his eyes widen.

If he could get hold of this person, unload the weed, and get Trevor's money wired to him, he could finally wash his hands of his oldest friend and his obligations to him. Afterwards, he would confess everything to Harvey and hope that after whatever punishment Harvey decided on, he would still agree to finish out their six months.

Moving quickly, so as not to lose his nerve, Mike dialed the number in front of him. It rang twice, and then he yanked the phone away from his ear as a high-pitched tone told him that the number was disconnected. He hung up, both relieved and disappointed.

_Now what?_ he wondered. He ran through his options in his mind.

He could leave the weed here, mail Trevor the key, and wait until he received the inevitable phone call begging Mike to bail him out of jail.

He could look for another buyer, but he'd burned all his bridges since his last ill-fated drug transaction, and had no clue where to start. Plus, getting arrested a second time, with all the consequences that would bring, was something he'd just as soon avoid.

He could throw the drugs in the East River. With his luck, though, someone would catch him in the act and he’d be arrested for littering, which would still be a violation of his parole. Even if he did manage to successfully jettison the weed, Trevor would either remain stuck in exile, or would recklessly put himself in danger by returning home.

He could do...nothing. Cut off contact with Trevor, leave the drugs here, lose the key.   And Trevor would be stuck in exile, wash, rinse, repeat.

The option which spoke most strongly inside of him was that of going home and confessing everything to Jake, or waiting two more days until Harvey got home, and confessing to him. Trevor would still act like Trevor, though, and Mike wasn't sure he could live with himself if something bad happened to his friend.

He stopped and examined that last thought more closely. Would Trevor do the same for him? Obviously not, since Trevor had sent him into that setup at the Chilton, and hadn't stuck around for the fallout. He ran his hands through his hair, clutching his skull. "What the hell am I even doing?" he moaned.

_Walk away,_ he urged himself. _Follow Jake's advice and forget Trevor. Take care of yourself._

He nearly convinced himself. Then he thought about Trevor at the hands of murderous drug dealers (as he imagined it), or trying to survive in prison. Up against that, he put his good memories of Trevor, always there for him, protecting him from the bullies in school, fighting off four attackers outside of a Toronto nightclub.

"Damn it," he muttered. "Goddamn it, Trevor."

He couldn’t come to a decision right then. His thoughts were too confused. He also knew he’d likely not have another opportunity to sneak back here after he did make up his mind. So, trying not to think about what he was doing, he zipped up the bag and left with it, clicking the padlock shut behind him.

 

The drive back to Harvey’s condo came close to breaking him. He missed nearly every light, and stalled repeatedly each time they turned green again. There seemed to be a police cruiser on every other block. He stayed studiously just below the speed limit, made sure to use his turn signals, and gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles stood out, knobby and white. He was acutely aware that if he made a mistake in his driving, and was pulled over, he’d be in a world of hurt. He only had a learner’s permit, the car wasn’t his, and, oh yeah, there was a bag full of pot behind his seat.

When he finally pulled the car back into Harvey’s garage, he had probably lost close to five pounds in flop sweat. As he rode the elevator up, it occurred to him that at least the sweat would lend credence to his lie of working out while he was gone. Not wasting any time, he stashed the pot under his bed, shoving away the guilt at bringing drugs into Harvey’s home. With any luck, they’d be gone before Harvey got back.

In between stalling the car and fighting down panic, he’d come up with the beginnings of a plan on the drive back. It depended what happened at his meeting tonight, and it might prove to be ill-conceived, but at least it gave him enough hope for the moment to lower his anxiety levels enough to make it through the next few hours.

 

Jake was still gone when Mike got back. He took a long, hot shower, which helped loosen some of the knots of tension, and also eased the ache in his bottom. After slipping into a pair of briefs, he went to see about lunch, and found Jake standing at the kitchen counter, sorting through his mail.

“Good workout?” Jake asked, barely looking at him.

Mike nodded, and in an attempt to hide his guilty blush, he moved to the refrigerator and opened the door, presenting Jake with his back. “What would you like for lunch?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s go crazy and have ham and cheese sandwiches with the rest of that fruit salad you made last night.”

Mike laughed. “That I can do.” He began removing items from the refrigerator, lining them up on the counter. Grabbing the cutting board, he laid two slices of bread on it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jake set down the stack of mail and turn to study Mike’s profile.

“I had a call from Harvey while I was at the studio.”

_Lucky you_. Mike wrestled down the flare of resentment. So Harvey had called Jake, but not him. “Oh?” was all he said.

“Looks like he won’t be back until late Friday night.” He paused, as if waiting for Mike to say something. When he didn’t, he continued, “I want to take you to _Payne_ on Friday.”

Mike glanced his way, and then went back to spreading brown mustard on the slices of whole grain bread. “Sure. Is Harvey going to meet us there?”

“If he can. Les asked me to do a demonstration on the downstairs stage. The guy he had scheduled had to cancel.”

“A demonstration? You mean, like the whipping I saw before?”

“Exactly.”

“Nice. I wouldn’t mind watching that – when I’m not preoccupied with other things.” He gave Jake a wry smile as he layered romaine leaves and tomato slices over the ham and Swiss cheese. He topped each sandwich with another slice of bread and cut them in half. He wasn’t kidding. He would love to see Jake in action again.

“So, who are you going to…?” He trailed off as he noticed Jake giving him a speculative look. “Oh. I….” He clamped his mouth shut and plated the sandwiches. He was reaching for the fruit salad when he felt Jake’s hand on his arm.

“This is entirely up to you, Mike. I will tell you that Les suggested it when he heard you were staying with me. He watched your scene with Harvey last Saturday and was deeply impressed.”

Blushing again, Mike dished up fruit salad with mechanical, jerky movements. “Would you be using the single tail?”

“My six foot bullwhip.”

Mike almost dropped the spoon. He walked the plates to the table, and then went back to get ice water for each of them. He could feel Jake’s eyes on him, but he didn’t know how to respond. The idea excited him, to be sure. But the caning was still fresh in his mind – and etched into his sense memory. And a bullwhip? He pictured the braided leather coils hanging from Jake’s play room wall and shivered. In the wrong hands, that thing could probably cut him to ribbons.

Jake took his seat at the table, but Mike hesitated. Had his table privileges been revoked after last night?

“Sit,” Jake said kindly.

Mike sat gingerly and took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly and gazing down at the tabletop. He swallowed with difficulty, took a sip of water, and finally looked squarely at Jake. “Would this be more punishment?” He definitely deserved it, although Jake didn’t know that. Not yet.

But Jake was frowning. “No. Absolutely not. This will be play, pure and simple. Based on the little bit we've worked together, I think you’d find it highly enjoyable.”

“Huh.” He chewed and mulled it over. "Why are you even asking me? I thought negotiations were off the table with you."

"This is different."

Mike didn't see how, but he refrained from arguing further, since he appreciated being given a choice. "Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, I don't know if Harvey mentioned it, but I've got my meeting tonight at six."

"That's fine. I'm meeting my agent for dinner around six-thirty. I was going to bring you with me, but I guess you'll be on your own for dinner. I can drop you off, and you can find your own way home."

"Sounds like a plan."

He should have felt appreciative of Jake’s trust in him, but the knowledge that he didn’t deserve it only sent the claws of guilt more deeply into him. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Jake everything, to drop to the floor and plead for forgiveness.

He shoveled more food into his mouth and said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know...I know. Mike!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oopsie! A day late. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments on the last chapter. 
> 
> It was suggested that I warn for the coming bullwhip action. So consider yourselves warned! (Shakes finger warningly.)

As seemed to be his usual habit, David arrived late to the meeting. Predictably, he searched out Mike like a heat seeking missile, and dropped down next to him, punching him in the arm hard enough to make Mike flinch.

“Where’s your sugar daddy?” he whispered.

“Couldn’t make it.” Mike could have argued the label, but it seemed pointless. “Can we talk after the meeting? Just for a couple of minutes.”

David’s only response was a curious look and a shrug.

After the meeting, by the time Mike got his official attendance form signed, David was nowhere to be seen. Cursing under his breath, he hurried outside to find him leaning against the building smoking a cigarette. Smiling, he offered Mike one.

“Ah. No thanks.”

He eyed David closely, trying to decide if he could trust him. No, scratch that. He didn’t trust him. He was an addict, which meant he was an accomplished liar and manipulator. (At that thought, Mike’s brain tried to make a connection which felt important, but he pushed it away.) The whole situation stank, but right now he needed to hold his nose and get it over with.

“Do you know anyone,” he said without preamble, “who might be interested in buying twenty kilos of weed? I need to unload it fast, so I’d be willing to sell it at a discount.” He had every intention of getting Trevor the amount he’d specified in his note, but David didn’t need to know that.

“Shit, man. You’re sitting on all that? How are you not high as fuck right now?”

“Because I’m trying to work the program? Look, it’s a simple question. Don’t waste my time. Yes or no?”

David’s expression grew calculating. “Maybe I’d need to see it first. My contact would need visual confirmation.”

“Yeah, that’s bullshit, and that’s not happening. It’s product. I have it. If they want it we can arrange a meeting to complete the sale. So? You have somebody in mind?” Just talking to David about this was giving him an itchy, dirty feeling.

David flicked his cigarette away, just barely missing Mike’s foot. “Yeah, I know some people. How about this, though? You sell them fifteen of those kilos, and I’ll take five for myself. Personal use.”

Mike took an involuntary step back. “Dude. Seriously?” He pointed at the doorway they’d come out of earlier. “Why do you even show up here every week?”

“Says the guy playing Let’s Make a Dope Deal.”

“Fine. Whatever. If you can meet my price, you can have however much you want.” He waited a couple of beats. “Can you meet my price? It’s 2K per.” This was more than Trevor’s price, but Mike had hoped to discourage him.

David grinned. “Columbia doesn’t need that tuition money anyway.”

“Dude,” said Mike again, infusing the word with as much accusation and disapproval as he could. He could have lectured David on the stupidity of throwing away his education and fucking up his life. After all, he had firsthand knowledge in that area. Since he was the bad angel holding out the temptation, it felt hypocritical to become judgmental at this point.

Blowing out a breath, he did a quick mental reset. _Helping Trevor. Holding nose. Check_. “You got a phone? Good. Here’s my number.” He recited it and waited while David added him to his contacts. “Call me as soon as you know anything. If I don’t hear from you by Monday, I’ll have to start looking into other options.” Which was a lie. There were no other options.

“Cool. Hey, you wanna – ”

Mike held up a finger, cutting him off. “No.” He flagged down a passing cab, congratulating himself on his good luck at spotting a free one. When David offered to share the ride, Mike wagged his finger at him again. “No. This doesn’t mean we’re friends. Find your own way home.”

He felt a little guilty at the hangdog look on David’s face as the cab pulled away. He shoved it on the pile with the rest of the guilt he’d accumulated in the past few days.

 

******

 

_…So, that’s the basic, ugly story so far. Now you know why I wrote this confession separately, and didn’t include it in my journal. You may not want me around after you read it._

_Alternatively, you may stumble across these pages after I’m hauled off to jail._

_Why am I following this impossibly disastrous course of action, knowing the potential consequences and fearing them like death?_

_I guess the best answer I can give you is that it’s about loyalty. Either you get that or you don’t._

_***_

_I’ve missed you while you’ve been gone. I’m kind of lost right now, to be honest, and I feel like the halfway decent person I was starting to become is eroding daily. I keep staring down at these stupid bracelets, rubbing them as if I expect a genie to materialize and fix everything for me._

_Jake’s been great, by the way. But how in the hell did you survive six months with him? And that cane. Right? Holy shit. That thing hurts. At the same time, though…may I please have another? Haha. You called it, I guess, on the whole pain slut thing._

_I hope you make it back in time on Friday to watch our scene. Since I haven’t heard from you, I assume you didn’t object when Jake told you. Should be fun. (Insert nervous laughter.)_

_Speak of the devil, here he comes. Time to find out what fresh brand of hell he’s brewed up for tonight._

_***_

“I’m going to put you well out of the way so you can watch me practice. This will give you some idea about Friday.” Jake beckoned Mike with a crook of his finger.

Earlier, Mike had helped him rearrange the furniture in the playroom to create a large open space in the middle. He led Mike to one of the corners.

“Let me introduce you to my bondage chair.”

The item in question was a sturdy looking contraption, all darkly stained wood and padded black leather. The back vertical section was long and narrow, with two attached pieces jutting out at right angles, creating a cross. The seat consisted of two sections that split apart. Mike pursed his lips and gave Jake a quick side eye.

The older man laughed. “No, it’s not meant to be comfortable. Have a seat.”

Figuring he probably deserved whatever Jake did to him, Mike sat. Jake adjusted the “arms” of the cross so that they angled down, and then used leather straps to secure Mike at wrists and elbows. He was likewise secured at his chest, his ankles, and just above his knees. Jake moved the two halves of the seat apart just to the point of strain and locked them into place. The position reminded Mike of the machine in Harvey’s gym that worked his quads, or abductors, or whatever those muscles were in his inner thighs. Except at the gym, his junk wasn’t left to flap in the breeze.

Jake was eyeing him with hot interest mixed with humor. “Normally, when I have a delicious little sub at my mercy like this, I introduce all sorts of distractions for my amusement. Thanks to Harvey’s restrictions, I’m limited in my choices.” He turned away to rummage in a cabinet drawer, and returned with a stainless steel device. Its shape gave away its purpose, and Mike swallowed nervously, even as his dick began to swell.

“I have plenty of experience with the bullwhip, but safety is always a priority. This is a bit of overkill, but it’s also protection against any mishaps that might occur.” He flicked Mike’s cock a few times with his finger. “You don’t want to get too excited before I get you tucked away.”

“Look, I don’t think –”

“Oh, but you do think. Far too much. Inside this room, I’ll do the thinking for both of us. Understood? Good. Now do yourself a favor and visualize something unpleasant. Mr. Happy needs to take a nap.”

Mike was torn between shutting his eyes, and wanting to see Jake get his cock stashed inside the stainless steel cage, so he alternated, cracking a lid open every so often to get a look at what was happening. There was some difficulty at first, as Mike’s cock had already taken an inconvenient interest in all the attention. Jake tried slapping his cock, and pinching his inner thigh, both of which only made things worse. Then Jake hinted that he might grab one of his canes, and show Mike what a cut to his cock felt like, and that did the trick. Mike wilted like a flower in the hot sun.

Surprisingly, the device was not uncomfortable. It consisted of three thick rings, joined by curved support pieces, and covered the head of his cock with a well-ventilated hood which appeared designed to allow for urination. A lock secured it around the base of his cock, and after Jack snapped it closed, he tucked the key into the pocket of his jeans.

“Do you feel any pinching? Perfect. Hmm. I do like that look on you. Maybe we’ll leave it on until I give you back to Harvey.”

Mike couldn’t prevent the lowly muttered, “Great,” from escaping. This turned out to be a mistake.

“That reminds me,” said Jake. “Harvey told me how effective the gag has proven with taming your mouth. I believe I have something here with your name on it.”

He opened another drawer and pulled out a tangle of black leather that looked suspiciously like a muzzle. Jake deftly rearranged the leather and Mike saw that he’d been correct. The bottom piece cupped his chin and lay flat across his mouth, leaving his nose free. It was held in place with a strap around the back of his head, and two others that ran up each side of his face and over his head to join the first strap in the back. Jake got everything buckled and snapped into place, and then eyed Mike critically, up and down.

“God, that gives me so many bad, bad thoughts.” He didn’t elaborate, and turned away from Mike with seeming reluctance to begin setting up for his practice session.

In lieu of a live human being, Jake hung a large stuffed panda from the St. Andrew’s cross.

“The black and white areas give me some good targets to aim for,” he explained to Mike. “Now, as I said, safety first. He settled a pair of safety glasses on Mike’s face and gave his head a quick scritch. “Take this.” He pressed a ball into Mike’s hand. “I assume you know what that’s for?”

Mike nodded.

“Try not to swoon.” Jake settled a black fedora on his head, adjusting it to a rakish angle. “The brim serves as protection for me. Looks good too, doesn’t it?”

Mike snickered behind his muzzle.

“Don’t laugh at the guy with the whip. Okay, let’s see how rusty I am. See the eye on the left of our friend, Mr. Panda?”

He picked up the coiled whip by the handle, shook the coils to the ground, and almost too quick for Mike to see, he pulled the whip in an arc behind him, nearly hitting the ceiling, and with a _crack_ that echoed through the room, flicked it at the bear. Nearly a second passed, with Mike feeling embarrassed for Jake’s poor aim, and then the left button eye dropped to the floor and rolled behind the spanking bench.

If Mike hadn’t been restrained so comprehensively, he might have stood up and applauded. And if his cock hadn’t been imprisoned inside a chastity cage, he certainly would have gotten hard at this casual display of power and control. When Jake glanced over at him, Mike did the only thing which lay within his power, nodding his head vigorously, eyes shining with admiration.

Jake gave a low chuckle. “Good, no screams of abject terror. I take your reaction as encouragement.”

After that, apparently satisfied that Mike was duly impressed, Jake stopped talking and began working through a variety of strikes, moving in a way that seemed almost choreographed. Sometimes the whip snapped out from the side, or dropped in from overhead, or jumped up from the floor. Its sharp _cracks_ felt as if they vibrated inside of Mike’s chest, and set his teeth shaking. The strikes landed without fail on the panda target, Mike could clearly see that from where he sat, but instead of being shredded, as he might have expected, the stuffed animal appeared to sustain little, if any, damage.

For his part, Jake’s movement seemed almost effortless. He wasn’t breathing hard, but after perhaps half an hour, he had sweated through his t-shirt, and stopped every so often to wipe his face with a towel. Mike could have watched him at this all night. Finally though, having apparently deemed his skills sufficiently sharp, Jake paused, taking a long drink of water. He gave Mike a considering look, the first attention he had paid him in nearly an hour.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, voice low and soft.

With no hesitation, Mike nodded.

“I’d like to give you one strike, right now, right where you sit, to give you a taste of what you can expect Friday night. If you object, let go of the ball.”

He waited, but Mike only clutched the ball more tightly.

Jake nodded his approval. “Keep your eyes open. Don’t flinch. Don’t move. I’ll be aiming for your chest, just above your left nipple.”

Mike swallowed behind the muzzle, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. Which was stupid. He’d watched Jake land strike after strike on the panda target without doing any damage. Unless you counted the severed eyeball that still lay on the floor somewhere.

“Don’t zone out on me, boy. Keep your eyes on me.”

For some reason, Mike found that funny, considering what he’d just been thinking about. He turned his involuntary laugh into a cough, and then nodded once to let Jake know he was ready.

The braided leather lifted and swirled in the air once more. Jake’s powerful arm propelled it forward, and Mike felt something on his chest, as light and fleeting as a butterfly’s wing. He turned his head and looked down to see a faint mark just where Jake had been aiming. As the blood reached the surface of his skin, the light touch turned to a sting, but that was all.

“Wow,” he tried to say, but the muzzle muffled it into, “Wuh.”

“You’ll be facing away from me on Friday. I don’t intend to hit you any harder than that. The cumulative sensation may grow to be intense, but I know you can handle it.” He coiled the whip and set it out of the way, and then rubbed his hands together. “Now, here you are, looking exceptionally pretty, and at my mercy. Whatever shall we do?”

 

Jake may have been prohibited from penetrating Mike, but he proved imaginative in finding alternative ways to torture him. He started with a pair of diabolically painful nipple clamps. Then he forced Mike’s thighs further apart and ran a piece of sandpaper up and down his inner thighs. Mike’s squirm room was limited, but he did his best, slamming his head against the back of the chair, and releasing high, frustrated wails. When Jake lifted his cage cock out of the way and abraded Mike’s balls with the sandpaper, he nearly lost his mind, screaming into the muzzle and squeezing his eyes shut. Without giving him a moment to regroup, Jake yanked off both nipple clamps, one after the other, and then used his fingers to pinch them over and over. After Mike had finished howling out his pain, he opened his eyes to find Jake standing back with his arms crossed, smiling down at Mike with something like fondness.

He caught Mike’s gaze, and his smile widened. “The muzzle may have been a mistake. I’m willing to bet that your unfettered, full-throated screams are wonderful to hear.” At Mike’s furrowed brow, he shrugged. “Didn’t Harvey tell you? I’m a true sadist. I could happily do this all night. Unfortunately, it’s late, you’re not mine, and I need to be up early.” He leaned in and began unfastening the muzzle. “You get to clean up in here. There’s some oil you can use to treat the whip. Just a touch, to keep it supple. Better use some on the muzzle, too. Wipe down the chair. Get Mr. Panda down off his cross. After you finish all that, you’re free to head to bed.”

By the time he finished issuing his instructions, he had Mike freed from the chair. Mike didn’t stand up right away.

“Um,” he said. “What about….?” He indicated the cock cage.

“That stays on.”

“Isn’t that….With all due respect sir, is that safe? Or hygienic?”

“That model is designed for 24/7 wear. They’re normally custom made, but you’re in luck. This one fits as if it was made for you, so I’m sending you back to Harvey with the key. He can decide whether or not to keep you in it. Don’t bother arguing. You’ll only get yourself in trouble. I’ll see you in the morning, at 7:30 sharp.”

“Same bat time,” Mike muttered at Jake’s back as he disappeared through the door.

 

******

 

The next two days dragged for Mike – in between his sessions with Jake, that is. He’d never cared that much for his bike messenger job, but could now acknowledge that at least it had filled the days quite effectively. Now his days were long, blank periods of waiting, punctuated by his morning discipline, and working out, and preparing meals, and the evening session. After his workout, he joined Jake at his studio. He asked for, and was given time in the cage. It still made him nervous, but nothing like it had before Jake’s “reprogramming” session. He supposed that without the chastity device in place, he might have gotten hard with pleasant memories of “reprogramming” his brains out.

Speaking of the chastity cage, he didn’t hate it as much as he’d expected to. It was easy enough to keep clean, and he could wear his clothes with no problem. Not that Jake allowed him any clothes at home.

He spent long hours writing in his journal. Perhaps it was a byproduct of his guilt about Trevor and the weed, but he suddenly felt compelled to confess every single transgression, minor and major, which he had ever committed.

His worst transgression was ongoing. The confirming call from David had not yet come. Jake had taken to confiscating his phone at unexpected times, leaving Mike an agonized tangle of nerves. Luck was on Mike’s side, for once, and the call came Friday morning while he was working out in Harvey’s building. With a pounding heart that had nothing to do with the miles he’d put in on the treadmill, Mike answered his phone.

“Mike? Hey, it’s all set up. Are you going to be at your regular meeting on Saturday?”

“Yes….” He didn’t like the sound of this already.

“They want to meet for the buy right after. There’s a parking garage –”

“No, wait. Are you crazy? Har – the guy I go with, he watches me too closely. There’s no way. Pick another time and place.”

He could hear David’s annoyed huff over the phone. “They said if you balk even a little, it’s off. See, they’ve got no reason to trust you. So it’s Saturday, or fuck you very much. Oh, I’ll still take my five, regardless.”

Mike thought rapidly. There was no way to smuggle twenty kilos of pot without Harvey knowing. He couldn’t exactly stick it in his pocket. He wasn’t ready to give up yet, so hoping that he could come up with a plan in the next twenty-four hours, he said, “Are they prepared to meet my price?”

“They’re willing to go seventy percent. They need to make a profit.”

That was slightly more than Trevor had specified. Mike tried to sound reluctant. “I don’t know…I’m barely making anything on this. But…okay. Fine. Tell them I’m in.”

“Great! I’ll see you Sat –”

Mike hung up on him before he could finish. He needed to do some serious thinking – and lying, and sneaking – if he wanted to figure out how to make this work. He shot off a quick text to Trevor: _Deal is set for Saturday. Radio silence until you hear from me._

He thought about texting Harvey. He could really use just one positive, kind word from him. His finger hovered over the screen, but then he slumped, shaking his head, afraid that if he communicated with his Dom, his compulsion to confess would kick in, and everything would come spilling out. It would happen eventually, but he needed to stall the inevitable until after he’d taken care of Trevor.

 

******

 

_We got wasted a lot at Columbia. Trevor was doing some relatively minor dealing, so there was always plenty of weed around. He occasionally allowed the barter system, trading weed for quality alcohol._

_This one Friday night, we were already ridiculously high, when Trevor broke open a fifth of vodka. By the time we worked our way through that, we were approaching blackout levels. It’s all kind of hazy now, but what I do remember is this feeling of...something for Trevor. Like adoration. Like I would do anything for him. He was all sprawled out on the couch, with his legs apart. I crawled up to him and undid his pants and went down on him like some ravenous idiot._

_At first, he seemed into it. His eyes were closed, so maybe it didn’t click right away that it was me sucking him down. He’s not real long, but he’s got this nice, fat cock, and it felt good and tasted good. I was really getting into it, probably making all kinds of obscene noises. He groaned, deep and loud, and thrust up into me. Taking this as encouragement, I reached for his balls. It was at this point that his eyes came open and met mine. I froze, because I saw the look in his eyes, and it wasn’t a friendly one._

_For someone who’d been half-passed out a second earlier, he moved fast. He shot to his feet, pulling out in the same motion, and shoved me away with the sole of his foot. I think he kicked me harder than he meant to. I toppled into the empty box we were using as a coffee table, and skidded a few feet before I rolled off. I was significantly more sober by the time I pushed myself to my elbows. My back was to Trevor, and he was calling me every ugly name in a college bro’s repertoire._

_I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up._

_Things were never quite right between us after that._

******

 

“Tune them all out.”

Jake was busy adjusting the leather straps around Mike’s wrists and ankles. He was bound to the St. Andrew’s cross on _Payne’s_ stage. The only thing he wore was the chastity cage. Since his back was to the room, it was easy enough to follow Jake’s instruction.

“I’m going to warm you up for a few minutes with the flogger. Stay relaxed. Don’t forget to breathe. Make as much noise as you need to.” He gave Mike’s ankle a squeeze and stood up. “What are your safewords?”

“Red to stop. Yellow to pause.”

“Good. Any questions before we start.”

_Am I out of my freaking mind?_ “Uh, no. Wait. Is Harvey here yet?”

“No, not yet. His plane should have landed about an hour ago, so I expect him any time.”

Half a minute later, Jake began. The flogger fell against Mike’s back with a thudding sound. It felt nice, and he relaxed into his bonds, eyes closed, grunting in time with the strikes. The regular rhythm Jake set was almost hypnotic. Slowly but surely, Mike’s skin heated up, and his grunts turned into staccato shouts. His back began to hurt, but it felt…heavenly. He wished Jake would forget about the bullwhip and keep flogging him. Mike could do this all night.

All too soon, though, the flogging slowed, and then stopped. He felt Jake step up behind him, running a hand over his heated flesh, making Mike shudder, and then trailing down his back, in between his buttocks, thumb just pressing against his entrance. Mike groaned, wanting more. He heard Jake’s deep laugh, and then the other man stepped away. He was back seconds later, pressing an open bottle of water to Mike’s lower lip. He opened his mouth and drank gratefully. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.

“What’s your color, boy?”

“’m green. Good to go.”

Jake wiped a towel over Mike’s face, petted his head. “All right. I’ll start slow. Remember: stay relaxed. And breathe.”

_Easy for you to say,_ thought Mike. He gulped in a huge breath, and let it out slowly. He did it again, but his heart was still beating too fast in his chest. He heard the thunderous _crack!_ of the whip a millisecond before the lick of heat struck his back. More from surprise than pain, he let out a scream.

Instead of another _crack,_ he heard angry voices behind him. _What the hell….?_ He wanted to turn his head to see what was happening, but Jake had impressed upon him, over and over, the danger of exposing his face to the whip. So Mike waited. Jake’s booted feet clomped across the stage, away from Mike. He sensed that he was alone now. The voices had moved off, but he could still hear what sounded like an argument in progress. Had he imagined Harvey’s voice?

His skin became chilled, and he began to shiver. Finally, growing concerned, he cautiously turned his head to see what was going on. _Shit_. It _had_ been Harvey’s voice that he heard. He was standing with Jake and Lester Payne, and he appeared enraged. He still wore a suit and tie, and his hair remained perfectly in place. He pointed a finger at the stage – at Mike – and growled something too low for Mike to hear. Jake crossed his arms over his chest and gave Harvey a tight-lipped smile. He made as if to offer the whip to Harvey, whose expression grew so dangerous Mike feared he was about to punch Jake.

Lester Payne touched Harvey’s arm, frowned at Jake, and gave Mike a quick glance. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly to the stage. “Gentlemen, we’re done. One of you take him home. Harvey, when you’ve cooled off a little, I want both of you back here to talk this over. Because I’d really like to know what the hell is going on. Until I get a good explanation, you’re both suspended.” He moved back, leaning against the bar, but keeping a close eye on the two men.

Harvey and Jake moved toward the stage, Harvey still looking angry, and Jake with a closed off expression that Mike couldn’t interpret. He turned his head back to stare at the far wall, wondering what was about to happen, and feeling as if he was about to cry. Had he done something wrong? Was Harvey pissed at him, or just at Jake?

“Well?” Jake asked in a taunting voice. “Should we flip for him?”

“Fuck you,” Harvey muttered, with less heat than Mike might have expected. “If you wanted to make a point, you should have left Mike out of it.”

Standing on either side of the cross, they each began unbuckling Mike’s restraints. Freed, he started to topple, and Jake caught him against his side.

“Oh that’s nice,” said Harvey, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mike hadn’t purposely fallen in Jake’s direction, and was about to say so, when he realized that Harvey was staring at his cock cage. Jake lifted it, putting Mike on obscene display. “Don’t be mad at me, just because you didn’t think of it first.”

Trying to be subtle about it, Mike pulled away from Jake. “Do you think I could get dressed now?” He felt unsure as to where he should address his question, so he split the difference and stared at the floor.

“Why don’t you ask Jake?” Harvey voice was cutting and cold. “It seems he’s grown quite proprietary while I was away.”

Mike could feel his anxiety growing. What, exactly, was he expected to do here? “Look, this is stupid.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” asked Harvey.

Not sure what else to do, Mike dropped to his knees and lowered his head. “No, Sir.” He wanted his clothes. He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to go home. But something was happening between Harvey and Jake that he didn’t understand, and most of all he wanted to stay out of the firing line. His chest heaved convulsively as he struggled with incipient tears.

Nothing was said between the two Doms for several long, agonizing minutes.

Finally, “You know what?” asked Harvey. “His things are still at your place. What don’t you just bring him by in the morning? Call first, though. In case I change my mind.”

Mike’s head came up at that. “Harvey,” he protested.

But Harvey didn’t answer him. With a pinched look at Jake, he turned on his heel and left.

 

Mike gave Jake an earful on the ride home.

“You didn’t tell him did you? About the whipping?”

Jake shot him a look, all wide-eyed innocence. “Didn’t you? I would have thought that was information you would want to share with your Dom.”

Mike groaned, leaning back in his seat. “You set me up. And Harvey. Why would you do that?”

Jake gave a humorless chuckle. “Sadist, here, remember?”

Mike shook his head. “No. Nope. I don’t buy that explanation. What are you playing at?”

They had reached the parking garage. Jake turned off the ignition and set the brake. He held oud his hand.

“What?” asked Mike.

“Give me your phone.”

Mike hesitated, and Jake clamped a heavy hand against the side of his neck. “Now, boy. Unless you intend to fight me for it.”

Mike’s pulse accelerated. He was tempted to do exactly that. His conditioning won out instead, and he reached in his pocket for the phone, handing it over to Jake. As Jake took it from his fingers, Mike tried to remember the last time he deleted the history. He knew already, of course. He saw the exact moment when Jake found his last text to Trevor. _Ah, shit. Fuck me._ Something deadly flickered in his eyes, and Mike felt a flash of fear.

Jake slipped the phone into his pocket and opened the car door. “We’ll talk inside. Meet me in the play room, and be prepared to tell the truth.”

Wondering if he was going to get his whipping after all, Mike followed Jake to the elevator, every cell steeped in dread.

 

Jake had him over the spanking bench. He hadn’t touched him yet, but he held the cane in his hand, and every time his pacing brought him into Mike’s view, he couldn’t keep his gaze off of the slender piece of wood.

“The deal is set,” said Jake conversationally. “Tell me about this deal.”

Mike opened his mouth, but all that came out at first was a whimper. He wanted to confess. God, he _yearned_ to tell Jake everything. But that would be betraying Trevor, letting him down when he owed him so much.

He was so busy in his own head, arguing with himself, that he missed the _swish_ of air. The cane hit him so suddenly he let out a strangled scream.

“Tell me,” said Jake, “about the deal.”

“Okay,” he panted. “All right. I found this guy. He goes to my Wednesday meeting. He knows some people who want to buy Trevor’s pot.”

“Where is this pot now?”

Mike balked again. That was not a confession he wanted to make.

The cane struck again and he choked down his scream.

“It’s….” He started crying at the utter shame he felt. “It’s under my bed at Harvey’s condo.”

“I see. And just how did it get there from Trevor’s storage unit?”

“I…I stole Harvey’s car and drove to Brooklyn.”

“When is the sale set to take place?”

“S-Saturday night.” He sniffed. “After the meeting.”

The tip of the cane traced light circles on Mike’s back. “And how were you going to manage that?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

Mike sniffed a few more times. “I don’t know.”

_Thwack_ went the cane.

“I don’t know,” Mike wailed helplessly. “It’s the only choice they gave me. Saturday or not at all. I have to figure it out, though. I need to do this.”

“Why?”

“For Trevor,” said Mike, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He told me…he asked me to.”

A few seconds of silence. “I think I understand,” Jake finally said. “You’ll take three more cuts, and then we’ll talk some more. Don’t forget the correct form.”

 

When he’d finished, Jake let Mike down from the bench and had him kneel on the floor. He paced up and down the room while he spoke.

“You have a Dom problem.”

Mike almost laughed out loud at that. He remembered the feel of the cane, and the urge dissolved.

“You can’t serve them both, submit to both, and please them both. You’ll end up pleasing neither.” He gave Mike a serious look. “You may respond.”

Mike tried to pull his thoughts together. “But I thought I was supposed to answer to you, while I was with you. When you give me back to Harvey, problem solved. Things will go back the way they were.”

One of Jake’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh. Oh, no. You thought I was referring to myself?”

“Sir?”

Jake perched on the edge of the bondage chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m talking about Trevor. Trevor and Harvey. You can’t serve them both.”

Mike knew his mouth had fallen open. For several seconds, all he could do was gape at Jake. “Trevor?” he finally got out. “That’s…He’s…. _What_?”

“It seems perfectly clear to me. Trevor calls the shots in your relationship, yes? He tells you what to do and you do it, even when you know it will be painful. Whether either one of you ever named it that in your mind, Trevor was effectively the Dom to your sub. Your conditioning runs so deep, you’ve been running around for the last few days, studiously destroying your own life just to help him.”

Mike didn’t know how to respond, so he stared miserably at the floor.

“Do you think you were fooling anyone, these last few days? Your thoughts, and feelings and guilt have shown clearly on your face, and in your posture. I was hoping you’d come clean on your own, but you’re a stubborn one.”

Mike sighed. “What was all that business with Harvey?”

“Oh, that was me trying to get him to realize things he’d rather avoid. It remains to be seen how successful I was.”

“Hm,” said Mike. That told him just about…nothing. “Are you going to tell him about Trevor, and the deal?”

Jake shook his head, eyes warm and sympathetic. “No. You are. As soon as I turn you back over to him in the morning. Unless….”

Mike waited, then asked, “Unless, what?”

“Unless I’m wrong, and the Dom you choose is Trevor, not Harvey.”

Mike knew that Jake wasn’t wrong. It was going to hurt though. God, was it going to hurt. In more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks so much for your comments on the last chapter.

"Would you like me to come up with you?"

Mike blinked slowly and focused back on Jake. He'd zoned out for a few seconds, which wasn't surprising, considering how little sleep he'd managed the night before. "Nah," he finally answered. "I need to face him alone eventually. And after last night, maybe it's not a good idea for you two to be in a room together."

Jake shrugged, apparently unperturbed. "We'll be seeing one another later this morning, at _Payne._ We both agreed it would be best to get our scolding from Les over with."

Mike gave him a frankly skeptical look. He couldn't imagine anyone scolding Jake for anything, least of all Lester Payne, who had struck him as mild mannered in comparison to Jake and Harvey. "Will there be a steel cage involved? Two men enter, et cetera, et cetera?"

Jake grunted out a laugh. "Nothing so dramatic as that." He leaned toward Mike and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You'd better get up there. Harvey's waiting for you."

Mike nodded dully. For all that he'd missed Harvey this week, now that the moment had arrived, he felt reluctant to face him. He'd made his decision somewhere around two in the morning, and at the time it had seemed like the correct one. Now, though, he was having second, and third and fourth thoughts. He opened the truck's door and climbed down to the sidewalk.

"Mike?"

He gave Jake a questioning look.

"No matter what happens up there, my door is always open. Understand?"

"Sure." He gave Jake a wan smile. "Thanks." He swung the door shut and headed into the building.

 

Jake was wrong. Harvey wasn't waiting for him. The living room and kitchen were empty. Mike paused, listening, but heard no sounds to indicate that Harvey was home. "Harvey?" he called, but got no answer, so he carried his bag to his room and sat on the bed, wondering what he should do.

After a few minutes, he stood and stripped out of his clothes, and then tucked them into the duffel bag. He wasn't ready to unpack just yet. He did remove one item from the bag: his journal. Inside it were tucked the pages of his confession. He'd added another page last night to bring it up to date. He went out to the living room and set the journal on the coffee table, thought for a second, and then removed the folded pages and lay them on top of the journal.

He moved to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, leaning on the counter and shifting nervously from foot to foot as the coffee started to brew. The key to his chastity cage hung on a string around his neck, where Jake had placed it earlier. He was toying with the idea of unlocking himself and hiding the cage when he heard a key in the front door. Abandoning the idea of either freeing or caffeinating himself, he scurried into the living room and knelt in front of Harvey's armchair.

Harvey passed him on the way to his bedroom without saying a word. Mike snuck a peek at him and saw he was wearing what Mike thought of as his boxing clothes. Minutes later, the shower in the master bath began running, and Mike sighed. Harvey seemed intent on dragging this out as long as possible. Mike supposed that was the least of what he deserved.

He sagged, fighting the urge to move closer to Harvey's chair and lay his head down on the seat. He was so fucking tired. He closed his eyes and must have dozed off because suddenly Harvey spoke his name from just a couple of feet away. Mike opened his eyes to find Harvey seated in his chair, dressed casually, cradling a mug of coffee in both hands, and eyeing Mike with a carefully neutral expression.

"What?" asked Mike, fearful that he'd missed something important.

Harvey opened his mouth to speak, and seemed to change his mind about what he'd been intending to say. "Have you had any coffee?"

Mike shook his head.

Harvey got up and went to the kitchen to fix Mike a cup. Heavy uncertainty settled in Mike's stomach. He should be serving Harvey, not the other way around. He was grateful for the hot beverage, though, and doubly grateful when Harvey tossed him a pillow and told him he could sit.

"I'd like to apologize," Harvey began, and that was all kinds of wrong. Mike needed to apologize, not Harvey. "I was tired and irritated when I arrived at Payne, and then I was angry at Jake. I took it out on you, and that was a mistake. I shouldn't --"

"Stop. Jesus, don't. Just stop. Please." Mike set his mug on the coffee table and grabbed the pages of his confession. Harvey did not look pleased with the interruption, but Mike couldn't allow him to continue without letting him know who he was wasting his apology on. He held out the pages, shook them impatiently, and after a long pause, Harvey took them.

"What is this?" he asked, gaze locked on Mike's face.

"Just read it," Mike pleaded. "I was going to give it to you tomorrow, or let you find it, when...." He couldn't say it out loud, not when Harvey was staring at him like that, confused and on the verge of anger. Mike leaned back against the couch for support. "I'll answer your questions, or take whatever you want to dish out, or...or grab my shit and leave, after you read that."

Harvey didn't move for so long that Mike began to fear that he would refuse, would simply tell Mike he was done, that he'd had enough. Finally, though, he leaned back in his chair, unfolded the pages, and started to read.

Mike ached as he watched the play of emotion over Harvey's face -- surprise, anger, disappointment, settling into tight-lipped concentration that revealed little. The only sound in the room was the crinkle of pages turning, and Mike's agitated breathing, which sounded much too loud in his ears. It felt like it should have taken longer for Harvey to get through all of the pages, but too soon he was folding them in half and turning his inscrutable gaze on Mike.

"That's quite a story. It's hard to believe I've only been gone five days. You certainly packed a lot into that short span of time. If there was a hall of fame for colossal, massive screw-ups, I'd say you stood an excellent chance of having an entire wing named after you."

Mike winced at the words, and at Harvey's harsh, derisive tone. He didn't remember moving, but realized he was back on his knees. He had no defense to offer, and so remained silent, gaze now riveted to the floor.

"It needs an ending, though, doesn't it? How did you envision that?"

Seconds ticked past, counted out by Mike's thudding heart.

Harvey rose to his feet, tossing the pages aside, and stood in front of Mike. He grabbed his hair and tugged, pulling his head back and forcing Mike to meet his gaze. "I asked you a question, boy. How does this story end?"

Mike took a gulping breath. "I don't know," he whispered.

Harvey gave his hair another punishing tug. "Not good enough. Bring it out here," he ordered.

Mike didn't have to ask what he was talking about. He lurched to his feet and went to his bedroom. The gym bag was under the bed where he'd left it. He dragged it out and carried it to the living room. It felt impossibly heavy, as if the weed inside had turned to lead.

"Open the bag," said Harvey.

Kneeling next to it, Mike unzipped the bag and pulled the edges apart, revealing the neat, dense bricks of weed. He couldn't seem to help his deep inhale, pulling the enticing fragrance into his nose and lungs.

"God," said Harvey, sounding almost sympathetic, "you want it so badly, don't you?"

Tears pricked Mike's eyes, but he blinked them away. "I didn't though," he said in a voice gone husky. "I never touched it. I swear."

"Hm. I suppose that's one point in your favor. Doesn’t stack up too well with the other side of the ledger. Tell me, what do you think happens now? How would you like this end?"

"I....I think I should complete the sale and send Trevor his money. After that, I'm one hundred percent done with him. I'd...." He didn't hold out much hope for this next part, but he had to say it. "I'd like to continue on with you. I'll take any punishment you hand me, and as much as you think is necessary. You can spank me, or whip me, or cane me. You can put on your boxing gloves and beat me to a bloody pulp. I deserve all of that and more. I know that." He waited, closing his eyes as he swayed with weariness. "Please say something."

He heard Harvey's long, drawn out sigh. "Mike, I could list all the things you've done wrong, including bringing illegal drugs into my home. That would be pointless, since I believe you are acutely aware of every single mistake you've made. The fact that you knew you were doing wrong, and did it anyway...well, that may be the most disappointing thing about all of this." He retook his seat. "You seemed to be doing so well, which I suppose led me to believe -- erroneously -- that you got what we were doing, and that you got what this is about. I see now that you don't get it. Not at all."

Mike wanted to shout out a protest. He did get it. This thing with Trevor...this was just _different._ It was only a blip that could be handled and moved past. He stayed quiet, and after a bit, Harvey continued.

"You're not stupid Mike, and so you must see how you are recreating the events that got you arrested in the first place. You are so set on protecting Trevor, you've completely forgotten to protect yourself. No, don't answer. Let me finish. Maybe if I hadn't been called out of town, things would have gone differently. I don't know. I'd hoped that Jake would have kept a tighter rein on you. Maybe he'll be able to explain himself when I see him today."

Harvey rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as if trying to stave off a headache. "Steps two and three. Recite them to me now."

The words sprang automatically to Mike's lips. "I came to believe a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity. I made the decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of my higher power." The final words seemed to stick in his throat. Hot tears trickled from the corners of his eyes.

"Pay close attention," Harvey said quietly. "I won't compete with you, or with Trevor, for control of your will. Decision time, Mike. I'm leaving now to meet Jake and Les. When I return, I want you and that bag full of pot gone."

Mike made an involuntary sound of distress.

"Or, if you're still here, I want you prepared to rededicate yourself to steps two and three, ready to truly submit, and to trust me to handle Trevor and anything else that might arise. No, please don't speak. I'll be back in an hour or two. That’s how long you have to make your choice. The clock is ticking."

He collected keys, phone and jacket, and then he was gone, and Mike was alone, still facing the impossible choice that he'd thought he'd put to rest last night.

 

******

 

Maybe it was having Harvey back, seeing him in the flesh, hearing his voice, which tipped the scales. Maybe it was his words – the articulation, with pinpoint accuracy, of the stupidity of Mike's planned course of action. It was likely both, combined with Jake's assessment of Mike and Trevor's relationship.

In the end, Mike decided to accept the premise that he'd toyed with before, that Trevor had been his _de facto_ Dom. As Mike held Trevor, and his actions, up against Harvey and Jake, it became clear that Trevor had been a bad Dom. Unlike them, he'd never been interested in protecting Mike, or doing what was in Mike's best interest. He had only used his power to control and manipulate.

None of that meant that Mike wanted Trevor to suffer. But Harvey had asked for Mike's trust. Perhaps he could come up with a solution that Mike had overlooked. All Mike had to do was cede control. That was easier said than done, but on the other hand, trying to control things himself hadn't worked out so well. He had no trouble admitting that.

_But...but...Trevor._

In the end, Mike concluded that he couldn't give up what he had with Harvey, who had hinted that he might be able to solve the Trevor problem. Even if not, Mike was tired of the struggle. He needed somewhere to rest, and Harvey was offering him that. Granted, the rest might not be comfortable for a while. Mike fully expected to suffer for his mistakes. He'd rather suffer with Harvey, than alone, or, worst case scenario, in prison.

Having made up his mind, he went to his bedroom and unpacked his duffel bag.

 

******

 

"I have a contact in the NYPD who has agreed to take this off our hands, no questions asked. I'm given to understand that it will be a valuable asset in their undercover work."

Mike nodded, surprised that Harvey had already checked into it. He'd been gone for an hour and a half, and had arrived back ten minutes earlier. Perhaps he'd been expecting all along for Mike to make the choice that he had. Harvey had only given a short nod to acknowledge Mike's presence when he spotted him kneeling near the front door. Mike chose to imagine that he'd seen a gleam of relief in Harvey's dark eyes.

Mike had countless questions he wanted to ask, but the first thing Harvey had done was gag him, so all he could do now was listen and accept.

"Both Jake and I will be at the meeting tonight."

Mike's eyes went wide.

"We'll take care of David. His buyers will simply have to deal with the disappointment of an appointment not kept." He paused to stroke Mike's head. "I'll be placing a phone call to Trevor tomorrow. You won't be present to hear what is said. All you need to know is that he won't be bothering you again. If he does, there will be legal repercussions."

Mike shivered at the cold look in Harvey's eyes. Instinct and years of conditioning produced a twinge of guilt on Trevor's account. It was out of his hands, though, so he pushed the guilt aside and hoped that eventually it would fade entirely.

"After the meeting," Harvey continued, "I'm taking you to _Payne_. What you need -- what we _both_ need -- will be easier to accomplish there. I've booked a private room for the remainder of the night."

Mike's breathing grew labored. Without meaning to, he glanced down at the chastity cage.

Harvey gave a humorless laugh. "Jake and I might not agree on everything, but I have to admit that I approve of this. It stays on for now." He captured the string from around Mike neck and pulled it and the key over his head. After a moment of consideration, he walked to the front door and hung the key on one of the hooks next to the door. "Where you can see it. It goes without saying, of course, that you aren't to touch it without my permission." He smiled. "Or the key either, for that matter."

Mike swallowed the saliva that had gathered in the back of his throat. He might have scowled, or rolled his eyes, but the truth was he was becoming weirdly grateful for the stainless steel cage. As long as he wore it, he didn't have to worry about getting hard, or staying soft. One less thing to be concerned about was welcome right now.

Harvey placed a finger under Mike's chin and tilted his face up so he could study it. "You look exhausted," he murmured. "Poor little sub. Trying to solve the world's problems all on your own. I want you to sleep for a few hours. You'll need to be well rested for tonight. After a nap, you can fix us a late lunch, and start on your chores."

Harvey grabbed Mike's upper arm and helped him to stand, which Mike appreciated, as his balance was currently hampered by the leather cuffs holding his wrists together behind his back. He took a step towards his bedroom, then paused and gave a longing look at the couch, which Harvey noticed, of course.

"Would you sleep better out here?"

Mike nodded, eyes shining with gratitude.

"Permission granted, then." His mouth quirked up in a half smile. "Lie down and I'll get you’re a blanket."

He strode to Mike's bedroom and returned with the satiny bronze comforter from his bed. After waiting for Mike to get settled on the couch, he shook out the comforter and arranged it on top of him. Mike felt about five years old, but strangely at that moment he didn't mind. It felt nice to be coddled like this, even if he didn't deserve it. He yawned, and burrowed under the covers.

Just before he drifted to sleep, he heard Harvey say, "By the way, Clifford Danner was set free yesterday. Jessica says he'd like to meet you, to thank you in person."

If Mike could have smiled, he would have. As it was, a warm feeling of something so unfamiliar descended on him that he had to examine it for a minute before he could groggily put a name to it. _Pride._

 

_******_

 

David didn't even make it to his seat before Jake and Harvey were up, practically frog-marching him back outside. No one else seemed to notice, being too engrossed in the current speaker's complicated tale of woe or triumph -- Mike couldn't quite make out which it was. Maybe both.

Ten minutes went by, another ten, and finally Harvey returned alone. "After a lot of back and forth," Harvey whispered, "David agreed to go grab a cup of coffee with Jake."

Mike arched one eyebrow. "A new recruit?"

Harvey's only response was a thin-lipped smile.

Mike opened his mouth to suggest that perhaps David would do better to spend some time in conventional rehab as a starting point, but at Harvey's quelling look, he remembered that an enforced vow of silence had been piggybacked onto his vow of chastity. That thought was so amusing that he nearly lost it, but Harvey gave his wrist a quick pinch, right under one of the leather bracelets, and that effectively settled Mike back down.

One benefit of enforced silence was that Harvey did not require him to get up and speak tonight. His nap had refreshed him, but he could have used a few more hours sleep. As a result, his eyes began to droop about halfway through the meeting. Somehow, he ended up with his head on Harvey's shoulder. Surprisingly, the other man allowed it, drool and all. When Mike jerked awake to the sound of the closing remarks, Harvey gave him a smile that was almost...fond?

_Ha,_ thought Mike, _he's probably thinking of all the evil things he's planning to do to me tonight._

 

_******_

 

Harvey unlocked the door and ushered Mike inside. The door closed, shutting out the throbbing bass beat drifting up from downstairs. Under recessed lighting that seemed far too bright, Mike could see that the room contained a spanking bench similar to Jake's, a sling, a St. Andrew's cross and a bed. One wall had parallel sets of D-rings bolted to it at regular intervals. On the opposite wall hung an extensive selection of implements, next to a shelf which held supplies -- lotion and lube and condoms and towels and bottled water. Mike could only imagine what was hidden inside the series of drawers underneath the shelf.

"Strip," said Harvey, as he hung his own jacket on a hook near the door. He kept his jeans on, but peeled off his long-sleeved t-shirt, slipped out of his shoes and socks and tucked everything neatly out of the way.

Keeping an eye on Mike, Harvey pulled out his phone and placed a call. "Yep. Just getting started." A pause while he listened. "That doesn't surprise me. Let's hope he changes his mind. Uh huh. Maybe an hour. Just knock first. See you soon." Without bothering to explain what that had been about, Harvey motioned toward the wall. "There's a shelf there for your things."

When Mike was naked and kneeling in front of Harvey, his Dom began laying out the rules for the evening.

"I'm not going to gag you, or restrain you. You're responsible for staying where I put you. If you don’t, there will be consequences. You can scream all you want. I encourage it, in fact. I'll also allow cursing and incoherent yells. Beyond that, no talking. No forming sentences or words, unless I ask you a direct question, or you need to safeword. Nod if you understand."

Mike nodded.

"We're going to be here for a while. In case I haven't already made myself clear, this is absolutely about punishment. This doesn't, however, mean you're bad. You've _behaved_ badly. You made bad choices. There is a distinct difference, which I hope you appreciate. Take your punishment, accept what I give you, and we can go forward and put this all behind us. Sound good?"

Mike nodded again. His heart had taken up a hard, thudding beat inside his chest.

"Here is how it's going to go. We're going to start against the wall, and then move to the spanking bench. I've decided to divide your punishment into three parts. To begin with, you'll be punished for offenses committed against me. This includes lying, stealing the car, bringing illegal drugs into my home, and general disobedience. I'll be using this on you during this part."

Harvey lifted a long, narrow, wooden paddle from the wall and showed it to Mike. It was thin and flexible, and Mike guessed it would sting when it struck him. He swallowed nervously, and nodded his head to show that he understood. Harvey set the paddle on a table.

"Next, you'll be punished for your offenses against David. You approached a known addict who is clearly struggling with his sobriety, involved him in your criminal scheme, and offered to provide him with what was effectively an unlimited supply of his drug of choice, knowing he intended to divert tuition money, destroying his future and, as it turns out, stealing from his parents. For this punishment...." He made another selection from the wall. "For this, the crop."

Involuntarily, Mike's eyes drifted shut, and he forced them open again. Harvey knew how much he hated the riding crop. As if he could read his thoughts, Harvey drew the crop slowly down the side of Mike's face and then used it to lift his chin.

"You're not going to enjoy part two at all, I'm afraid." He set the crop next to the paddle. "The third and final part of your punishment involves your apparent lack of concern for your own welfare. I'll expand on that when we get there." He lifted a cane from the wall, causing a shudder to run through Mike's body. "Jake tells me you have responded favorably to his use of the cane, so this will round out your punishment. If you understand and agree to everything I've just explained to you, please nod your head. If you have any questions or objections, you have my permission to speak."

Mike shivered, eying the three implements set aside for his suffering. Harvey could not have chosen better. Mike gave a jerky nod, followed by a more decisive one. He could do this. He deserved this. If this is what it took to put this nightmare of a week behind him, he would do it and thank Harvey for the privilege.

"Good. Let’s get started. Stand up and move to the wall. Not too close. Now bend over, back parallel to the floor, hands flat against the wall for support."

Mike moved into position, and Harvey stood behind him, kicking his feet further apart. Apparently satisfied, he picked up the paddle. "Keep firmly fixed in your mind your sincere desire to be good and obedient, and to submit to me. I'm not going to give you a number. Once I start, I won't stop until I feel the lesson has been driven home. Stay relaxed. Breathe. And do not move."

His first swing hit Mike squarely on the meat of his left cheek. He'd been correct -- the paddle stung like a motherfucker. He gritted his teeth, which proved to be a mistake. When the next blow struck, his teeth ground together painfully. He softened his mouth and breathed out slowly. His whole body jumped with the next strike. _Shit._ He groaned, already hating this.

Harvey set a regular rhythm, hitting, pausing for a beat, and hitting again. It was all Mike could do to remain in position, and not beg for Harvey to stop. He'd agreed to this. He deserved this. The words played in a loop in his head as his bottom heated and each blow increased his agony. His groans turned to grunts, and then to sharp yells of pain. It became a struggle to remember to breathe. For perhaps half a dozen strikes in a row, he cursed wildly, forcing out the filthiest words that he knew. Harvey never slowed, or varied the intensity of the hits, and finally something broke inside of Mike, and he began to cry, desperate sobs that built up to keening wails of distress.

His arms began to shake, and fear began to build that he'd slip. The tremble in his arms moved to the rest of his body. Finally, Harvey paused.

"Ten more," he announced. "Hold still and accept them. You can do this."

Mike hung his head between his arms. The blows started again. He sucked in deep lungfuls of air and endured. "Oh, _God,_ " he wept. "Oh, holy fucking shit."

"Last five," murmured Harvey.

For the first time since they'd started, Harvey varied the pace, administering the final five blows with a speed and intensity that stole the breath from Mike's lungs. When it was over, Harvey remained silent for long minutes. Mike's bottom was on fire, and his arms shook so much he was in danger of collapsing against the wall. He panted noisily.

Finally, "Stand up," ordered Harvey.

Gratefully, Mike straightened. He yearned to shake out his arms, but feared doing anything for which Harvey hadn't given express permission.

"Drink," said Harvey, handing him an open bottle of water. While Mike quenched his thirst, Harvey used a towel to wipe himself down. His face and bare chest were dripping with sweat. "Stop staring," Harvey chided him mildly, and took back the water, finishing it up in two long swallows. "Kneel while I get the bench ready."

Mike slid to his knees, taking care not to sit back on his heels. Sitting had never sounded less appealing than it did right now. He kept his head lowered, but tracked Harvey's movements out of the corner of his eye. He loosened something underneath the center portion of the spanking bench, and straightened it so it was level, and then lowered it several inches. When he was done, he turned back to Mike.

"What's your color, boy?"

"Green," Mike rasped.

"Louder, please."

Mike cleared his throat. "Green, Sir. Good to go."

"Thank you. Once again, as a reminder, I'm punishing you now for your treatment of David. I hope you feel deep shame for what you did, because you should. Now, stand up and come here."

When Mike stood next to him, Harvey instructed him to lean his torso over the top of the bench, which was right about at hip height. He wasn't allowed to grab onto anything to keep his balance. He found out why with Harvey's next words.

"Grab your ass cheeks and hold them apart. As far as you can."

Mike hissed as he followed Harvey's orders. After the paddling, any contact with his ass fucking _hurt._

"That's good. Stay exactly like that. Don't move."

Harvey picked up the riding crop. Mike should have guessed his intentions, but was taken completely by surprise when the crop flicked down into his crease and struck his puckered entrance.   The pain shocked him mute for several seconds. Then he howled, long and loud, and might have continued, except he had to pause to take a breath. Right at that moment, the crop struck again, in the exact same spot.

_No,_ his mind protested. _No, no, no, no._

The crop struck again. Mike squeezed his eyes shut and screamed. Twice more the crop came down on that sensitive spot, and Mike wept helplessly.

"Stand up."

Mike swayed, watching Harvey adjust the bench again, back to the position Mike recognized from Jake's play room.

"Go on. Get up there. Assume the position."

It seemed Harvey was done with the worst of the torture, but he wasn't done with the crop. He flicked it over Mike's bottom and upper thighs, up and down, back and forth, covering every inch, reawakening and renewing the burn from the paddle. Mike just wanted it to be over. He sobbed without filter or restraint, tears and snot running freely down his face and neck. He felt like the lowest and most despicable of specimens. He was bad. He'd fucked up. He was so bad, and the proof of that was confirmed when his cock stirred within its cage, showing an unholy interest in Mike's suffering.

"Oh, God..." he moaned.   "Please...." He wasn't certain what he was begging for.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Harvey called, continuing to strike Mike's bottom for several more seconds. Then he stopped, bringing blessed -- but only temporary, Mike knew -- relief.

Mike dared a quick peek over his shoulder. Jake. Of course it was Jake. That explained the earlier phone call. He didn't understand these two at all, and maybe he never would. Last night they had seemed to be on the verge of blows, and now here was Jake, testing the cane Harvey had set aside, rejecting it, and selecting a different one from the wall. More double-teaming, it would appear. Mike realized that his suffering had only begun.

While Jake made his selection, Harvey used a fresh towel to wipe Mike's face. To his credit, he showed no reaction to the unappealing mess Mike had made of himself, just cleaned him up and offered him a few sips of water. Harvey made eye contact with Jake, who nodded, signaling his readiness.

Harvey moved in front of Mike. "I don't have the experience with the cane yet that Jake does," he explained. "He has generously agreed to handle part three of your punishment." He stepped closer and brushed Mike's sweaty hair back from his face.

"This part is about you, Mike. Your actions this week have demonstrated a disappointing lack of concern for your own well-being. We want to impress upon you that you are deserving of a good, honorable life. You're deserving of happiness, and safety, and security. On top of that, you're deserving of our time and effort here tonight."

Harvey nodded once at Jake, and Mike heard the despised hiss of the cane before he felt it whip across his bottom. He gasped on an inhale, and exhaled a deep, heartfelt groan.

Harvey stroked his head, and held the side of his neck. "You suffer so beautifully," he murmured. "By the time we're done here, you may believe that you hate me...hate the both of us. I want you to focus on the very real truth that we're doing this to help you, because we care for you. All I require of you is to take what Jake gives you. Give it up for me. Give me everything. Submit, and accept. Show us what a good boy you can be and take the pain, every bit of it."

Harvey met Jake's eyes once more. "Do it," he said.

What followed was a hot blur of unrelenting agony. The cane fell, again and again. There were no pauses, no requirement that Mike speak, just cut after cut after cut. The pain grew to the point where Mike could no longer comprehend it. His physical body seemed to detach from it, or perhaps more correctly, the link between mind and body broke, or was suspended for the duration. The cane fell and fell and fell, and Mike went away for a while. He was dimly aware of his grating screams. Eventually the sound of them began to irritate him, and he went silent. His eyes drifted closed.

A strange thing happened then. The beat of the cane against his ass felt as if it was stoking a slow arousal deep inside him. He moaned and lifted his ass, humping into the padded leather, desperately chasing… _something_. A shiver ran through him, once, twice, and again.

“Open your eyes,” Harvey ordered softly. “Mike. Look at me.”

Feeling as if his lids were weighted with lead, Mike forced his eyes open. Had the caning stopped, or only paused?

“Give him some water,” came Jake’s voice from behind him.

Harvey held a bottle to Mike’s mouth. He gulped the water down, unable to tear his gaze away from Harvey’s stern, beautiful face. He saw him look past Mike, to Jake, and then nod once. He removed the bottle and set it out of the way.

“Five more,” Harvey said, “and then we’re done.”

Mike choked back a sob. The pause, although brief, had knocked him out of the place he had gone to, and his body was once more in agony. “I can’t.” He was barely aware that he’d spoken out loud.

Maybe Jake hadn’t heard him. The cane fell, and suddenly Mike was just done. “Red,” he rasped out. “Red. I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” He wept for the pain and his failure and the pure relief that it was over.

Warm lips brushed his forehead. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” Harvey murmured. He and Jake worked together to help Mike down from the bench. “I never imagined you’d last so long.” They laid him on the bed on his stomach.

“Damn, he’s tough,” said Jake, addressing Harvey. “See what I mean? Part of him loves the pain. I bet I could make him come right now, without ever getting hard.”

Feeling dazed and groggy, Mike listened passively to the mild argument that started up between them, as they discussed him as if he wasn’t there.

“Drop it,” Harvey finally said. “Mike’s orgasms are my concern, not yours.”

“Don’t believe me? Watch this.”

Two cold packs had appeared from somewhere, and now Jake laid one on each side of Mike’s bottom. Mike hissed at the contact, and the sensation of cold on his heated flesh. He clawed at the sheets and ground his caged cock into the mattress.

“F-u-u-c-k,” he got out as a shudder gripped him.

“See that?” said Jack. “Get a vibrator inside him right now, and I guarantee you’ll witness something amazing.”

“Get out,” said Harvey. He sounded more amused than angry.

“I’m just saying, keep this in mind the next time you’ve worked him into this headspace.”

Harvey left Mike’s side and walked Jake to the door. As Mike watched, the two men embraced. Jake kissed Harvey on the temple and then looked past him to Mike. “See you soon, Mike. It was an absolute pleasure beating your ass tonight.” And then he was gone, and the door closed behind him.

Mike gave a low groan and shifted, causing the cold packs to slide down the back of his ass. Harvey repositioned them before sitting next to Mike and encouraging him to rest his head against his thigh.

“How are you doing?” he asked Mike.

Mike heaved a sigh. “I am sorry, you know.”

“For?”

“For everything. All the stupid, crazy shit I did this week. For safewording.”

“We both learned you have some limits. That’s not a bad thing.”

“Mm.” Mike didn’t feel like talking any more. He felt like if he didn’t move for a few days, he might be able to make peace with the throbbing mass of pain that was his ass.

Harvey spread a soft blanket on top of Mike. When the fresh flare of pain receded, he realized he was exhausted.

“Sleep for bit,” Harvey encouraged. “After the swelling goes down a little, I’ll rub some lotion on you that will make you feel much better. They keep the best stuff here. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll take you home.”

“Good,” Mike breathed. He was too tired to think about what, if anything had been resolved tonight. He felt lighter, less frightened of the future, so that had to be counted as a win.

“I’m proud of you,” Harvey murmured, petting Mike’s hair.

Mike might have smiled at that, but he was too busy sliding headfirst into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, you guys are great, with all the comments and nice words and whatnot. Thank you so much!

Mike felt a faint breeze against his feet, and legs and behind. He groaned as a familiar hand stroked over his bottom, short, gentle movements which brought relief to the throbbing burn. He blinked his eyes open. It took a few more blinks to remember where he was. _Payne._ The events from earlier in the night played through his mind in a pain-soaked, hallucinatory slideshow which might have seemed unreal if not for the very real pain in his backside.

He smacked dry lips together and swallowed past a wrecked and aching throat. _Oh, right. All the screaming._

"You back with me?" asked Harvey, never pausing in his careful application of something that smelled faintly of menthol and brought sweet relief to Mike's tender ass.

"Yeah," said Mike, his voice the driest of husks.

"There's a thermos on the floor. Les brought you some tea by before he left. It should help your throat."

Mike turned his head to find the promised tea, along with a plate of cookies and crackers. He looked over his shoulder at Harvey, and then couldn't stop staring for long seconds. Harvey appeared exhausted, but when he noticed Mike's gaze on him, he gave him a smile that was open and sweet and created crinkles next to eyes which were warm with affection. The whole effect had Mike feeling lightheaded. He returned Harvey's smile with a more tentative one of his own.

"Drink," said Harvey, and returned his concentration to Mike's posterior.

Mike leaned over the side of the bed and unscrewed the thermos lid, before pouring some of the still steaming liquid into it. He propped himself on one elbow and took a cautious sip, tasting lemon and a hint of sugar and ginger. He emptied the remainder down his throat and poured some more.

"What time is it?" he asked in a voice already considerably clearer.

Harvey glanced at his watch. "About three-thirty." Probably noticing Mike's widened eyes, he gave a soft chuckle. "Les closed up and took off about an hour ago. You were still zonked out, and he wanted -- we both wanted -- to let you sleep."

Mike nibbled on a cookie that was spicy, sweet and crunchy with tiny seeds, and then popped two more in his mouth in rapid succession, realizing that he was famished. "Did you get any sleep?" he asked, mouth half full of cookie.

Harvey shrugged, capping the bottle of lotion, setting it on the floor, and covering Mike back up with the blanket. "I might have dozed off for a few minutes. I wanted to keep an eye on you, though. That was intense, what we put you through."

_But who was keeping an eye on you?_ Mike wanted to ask, but didn't. "Time to head out?" he asked instead, scarfing down cookies and crackers in between greedy sips of tea. Harvey was staring at him weirdly, so Mike slowed down, swallowing his last mouthful and brushing crumbs from his lips. "What?"

Harvey shook his head, smiling...fondly? "Food's not going anywhere." He heaved himself to his feet and moved to the shelf where Mike had left his clothes. He came back with an unfamiliar pair of sweats and t-shirt. "Les thought you might be more comfortable wearing these home."

Mike nodded and shifted around so that he was sitting up. Lester Payne certainly seemed to be taking a close interest in him. Not that he was complaining. Harvey handed him the sweats. Mike felt sluggish and clumsy as he tried to wrestle first one foot, and then the other into the pant legs.

Seeing his struggle, Harvey dropped to one knee and pushed Mike's hands away. "Let me," he murmured, and finished the job of dressing Mike. With an arm supporting Mike's back, he helped him raise his bottom so he could pull the sweats all the way up, and then he slid the t-shirt over his head and tugged it into place. He even got Mike's socks on him, and settled his shoes on his feet, tying the shoelaces with complete aplomb, as if he performed this service every day.

Mike watched his face, and his hands, and had to practically sit on his own hands to prevent himself from reaching over to comb them through Harvey's hair, or rest them on his strong shoulders. Tired as he was, that feeling was growing in him again, the feeling he recognized as an almost physical, visceral need to fall down at Harvey's feet in abject worship. He glanced aside and scrubbed one hand over his own face. He seriously needed to get a grip.

If Harvey noticed his internal struggle, he didn't say so. He grabbed Mike's jacket and handed it to him, then took it back and held it while Mike shoved his arms in the sleeves. Next, Harvey pulled on his own jacket, and lifted a handled plastic bag which Mike realized held the clothes he'd worn here. Harvey took hold of Mike's upper arm. "Stand slowly," he instructed. "Let's see how steady you are."

It seemed more of an effort than it should have been to push himself to his feet, but Mike managed it with Harvey's assistance. Then, despite the tea, and the sugary cookies, Mike's head began to swim, and he fell heavily against Harvey. He heard the plastic-y plop of the bag as it hit the floor behind Harvey, and then both of his arms came around Mike, holding him to his chest.

"Whoa," said Harvey. "You're okay. We'll just stay like this for a minute or two until you get your sea legs."

Mike wanted to make a snarky retort -- something about _aye, aye, Captain,_ or maybe a play on the word seamen -- but he held his tongue, and held tightly onto Harvey, daring as much as to wrap his arms around him and lean his head against his shoulder. Unwise words began to form in his mouth, words that revealed too much and would likely scare Harvey off. Or, not _scare_ , because Harvey hadn't been scared off yet by any of Mike's idiotic behavior. It would make things awkward, though, and Mike had no desire to ruin this moment between them. So he clung, and soaked up the feeling of Harvey's warm, solid body against his, recording it in his memory banks for future reference and review.

Harvey's hand came up to cup the back of his head, long fingers, digging into his hair to massage his scalp. If not for the cock cage still imprisoning him, Mike didn't know what embarrassment he might have brought down on himself.   He thought he felt something stir on Harvey's side, but just then Harvey stepped back, keeping his hands firmly on Mike's shoulders.

"Think you can make it to the car? It's right out front."

Mike nodded. "Sure. I'm good."

Harvey paused, an arrested look on his face, head tilted to one side. "You are, you know. I want you to keep that in mind, always. Repeat it to yourself in the mirror every day if you need to. You're so good, Mike. And you were so good for me tonight." His hands tightened on Mike's shoulders. "We've all made bad decisions in service of our addiction of choice. I know I have. But we're better than the chemicals that try to rule us. You're better than that. Okay?"

Mike's throat closed up at Harvey's little speech, and he had to swallow repeatedly to find his voice again. "Okay." For the first time, he could almost believe Harvey. He wanted to. He wanted it to be true. "Okay," he said again. "Thanks, Harvey."

Harvey smirked, picking up the plastic bag and placing a hand on Mike's back to guide him out the door. "You're very welcome."

 

******

 

The temptation was strong to drowse on the drive home, and Mike could only imagine how difficult it must be for Harvey to keep his eyes open. In an effort to help him stay awake, he began a conversation.

"Did you get everything straightened out in Chicago?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. In fact, the other side has agreed to drop the lawsuit, so I don't anticipate any further trouble from that quarter."

"That's great, Sir." And it meant Harvey wouldn't be flying off on another extended trip -- that was Mike's fervent hope, anyway.

Street lights and traffic lights spread wavering pools through the dark interior of the car as it moved down nearly deserted streets, highlighting, and concealing, and highlighting once more.

"So it's really okay," asked Mike, as if continuing an earlier conversation, "that I safeworded?"

Harvey was quiet for long minutes, and Mike had decided he wasn't going to answer when he finally spoke. "We were hoping that you would. I expected it much sooner, but Jake predicted you would hold out longer. In some ways, he seems to understand you better than I do." He gave a soft, humorless laugh which Mike couldn't begin to interpret. "You needed to learn your limits." He glanced over at Mike. "Did you?"

Mike shrugged and turned to look out the side window. "Maybe. I mean, yes. I guess so." He frowned. "It's confusing, though. I thought I was supposed to trust you, and to give myself over to you. But...."

"But you think I failed you tonight?"

"No!" The volume of his denial surprised Mike. He looked back at Harvey, whose jaw was tense and twitching as he maneuvered the car around a double-parked cab. "You didn't," he said more softly.

"Does what happened tonight make you trust me any less?"

Mike furrowed his brow, not understanding how Harvey could even think that. "No. If anything it makes me trust you even more. The rules say you stop if I safeword, but until tonight that was only true in theory. Now I know with absolute certainty that you'll respect my limits."

The tension on Harvey's face eased with that declaration. He gave Mike a quick glance. "It goes both ways, you know. I now have greater trust in you, knowing that you'll stop me if I go too far."

Mike chewed that over in his mind. He'd never really considered Harvey's side of things. "Win win, then," he finally mused. "Although my butt is still telling me it was the big loser tonight." Harvey didn't respond, so Mike asked a question that had him curious. "Do you enjoy it? I mean, the way Jake seems to?"

Another long silence from Harvey as he thought that over.   "Not like Jake, no.   He is in a class all by himself. He understands needs like no one I've ever met. His needs, the needs of whatever sub he's working with. When I first met him, I thought he was an absolute bastard. And he can be. There's always a purpose behind what he does, though. In all honesty, I don't think anyone else could have done for me what he did."

"So you don't enjoy it? Dealing out pain?"

Harvey sighed. "For me, I'd say it's more satisfaction than enjoyment. To make you fly, to see you truly give everything up for me....It's an accomplishment that thrills me like little else. It's about the result." He shot Mike another sidelong look. "Jake's right, though, isn't he? You love it."

Mike colored at that. It might be true, but he hadn't yet reconciled himself to that bit of self-knowledge.   "There's... _something_ about it," he finally allowed.

"The perfect masochist to Jake's sadist. Anyone else would be eaten up with jealousy."

Mike gave a soft huff. "Do you mean you or Jake?"

"Not me," said Harvey, sounding irritated.

"Good, because I don't want to be with him. I want to stay with you."

Sounding as if he really wanted to know the answer, Harvey asked, "Why?"

There were so many reasons Mike could have given him, some of which were too embarrassing or too fragile to give voice to. He settled on the thing they had been discussing. "Because...that pain. I hate it, and I love it, and it does things to me.... It's addicting. That's scary enough with you. With Jake, though...I think he could take me to places that would only make me crave more, and more, and more. And what's the point of kicking one addiction, just to let another one take over my life?"

Harvey grunted, as if Mike's impassioned answer had taken him by surprise. "Not bad, kid." Mike assumed the subject was closed, but then Harvey spoke again. "It also explains a few things."

They'd reached Harvey's building, and both were quiet while he drove into the underground garage and parked the car. Mike couldn't let Harvey's last, enigmatic remark pass. Before Harvey could open his door, he asked, "Like what?"

Harvey sagged back in his seat and turned to Mike. "Like Friday night." He pinched his lips together and dropped his gaze, as if unable to meet Mike's eyes. "I wasn't planning to share this with you, but when Jake called me to tell me about Trevor, I was so angry." His eyes found Mike's and now he looked sheepish, which was a weird look on him. "I may have said some things...like suggesting Jake should take you off my hands for good."

Mike felt as if all the air left his body, leaving him cold and hollow inside. He swallowed and swallowed, wishing he'd brought the rest of the tea with him. "W-what did Jake say to that?"

Harvey gave a bitter sounding laugh. "Called me a fool. And worse. Said I couldn't see what was right in front of my face." He shook his head. "And then he said that the two of you staying together for too long held the potential for catastrophe. He thought you would each drive one another to more and more extreme places. And...well, Jake may have close to twenty years of sobriety under his belt, but he knows he has to remain as vigilant as any of the rest of us. He's never said so explicitly, but I think that's why he never keeps a sub for long. He knows what he is, but he's also strong enough to keep it from taking him over and ruling him."

Mike tried to reconcile what Harvey had just told him with the impervious, unflappable Jake he had come to know over the past few days. "So that business with the bullwhip...?"

Harvey frowned. "I doubt Jake thought I would arrive as soon as I did. I was meant to discover you mid-scene, flying into the stratosphere. I kind of fucked up his little teachable moment. Which is a first, let me tell you."

"Teachable moment? Who was he supposed to be teaching? Me or you?"

"Both, of course. He's a devious motherfucker. I've long suspected the man claims Machiavelli as an ancestor somewhere back in the dark recesses of his family tree."

"Wow," was all Mike could think of to say. "He's playing chess...."

"And the rest of us are playing checkers. Exactly." His mouth opened in a sudden, jaw-cracking yawn. "Let's forget Jake for now and go get some sleep."

"Yeah," Mike agreed, feeling vaguely disquieted, as if he had just barely escaped from some frightening, alternate future.

 

Upstairs, Mike paused at the threshold to his bedroom, still holding out a faint hope that Harvey would invite him to come sleep in the master bedroom with him. Mike would have happily slept on the floor, like he'd done the first night at Jake's place. Harvey stopped too, but all he did was cup one of Mike's cheeks with his hand, and kiss him on the temple. Mike's pulse sped up crazily at the simple contact.

"Sleep as late as you like," Harvey said. "We'll skip your morning spanking this one time. I think all the hits you took tonight will hold you for a while."

Mike nodded, and his throat grew tight as he watched Harvey walk away from him, down the hall, and into his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He had to lean against the wall for support, and curl his fingers around the edge of the doorjamb to prevent himself from following Harvey and begging to be let in.

He pressed his temple to the wall, rubbing on the place Harvey's lips had touched moments earlier, fighting the urge to cry. He'd begun to feel that their relationship had advanced, had grown closer, but now he wondered if anything had really changed. Perhaps they were just back to square one.

No, he decided. He didn't believe that. He'd seen a look in Harvey's eyes earlier, was sure he hadn't imagined it. He might not want to admit it to Mike, or even to himself, but Mike would have bet everything he owned that Harvey was starting to care for him. What Harvey felt might be levels below what Mike was feeling, but it was something, and he could work with that.

 

******

 

When Mike finally shuffled out of his room at around noon, Harvey was already up, seated in his armchair, with a fresh mug of coffee on the table next to him. He was reading Mike's journal, and he was frowning.

Mike had woken with the determination to ask Harvey a favor, but now he felt hesitant. Was Harvey angry at something Mike had written? He could think of a few possibilities, starting with that first day with Jake at his studio, and ending with Trevor, Trevor, and more Trevor.

Mike cleared his throat and waited for Harvey to notice him. "Can I fix you some breakfast, Sir? Or lunch?"

Harvey gave him a searching stare, and then seemed to realize belatedly that Mike had asked him a question. "That would be great. Whatever sounds good to you is fine with me."

So Mike padded out to the kitchen, poured himself a mug of coffee, and opened the refrigerator to stare blankly at its contents. The bottle of blueberry syrup gave him an idea. Harvey had a fancy waffle maker which looked as if it had rarely -- if ever -- been used. Mike decided that waffles and scrambled eggs sounded fantastic. Of course, it turned out that Harvey's cupboards contained no pancake/waffle batter mixes, so Mike used his phone to search for a recipe. He memorized it in short order, then set to work with near total concentration, measuring and whisking and heating and pouring.

He tried to limit his glances over at Harvey, but it wasn't easy. He wanted to keep track of Harvey's reactions to what he was reading, even though Mike couldn't be sure what prompted the scowl, or those thoughtfully pursed lips, or that serious, aggrieved expression. Once, Harvey glanced up at Mike and caught him looking. Harvey held his gaze, and appeared to be trying to peer right inside of Mike's skull. The eggs sizzled in the skillet, and Mike looked away, going back to tending his culinary creations.

In the end, everything finished cooking at nearly the same time. Mike plated up thick, fluffy waffles, equally fluffy cheesy scrambled eggs, and slices of melon. "Food's ready," he called over to Harvey. The other man had evidently finished getting up to date on Mike's writings. He held the book trapped against one thigh, and had a pensive look on his face. When he walked to the breakfast bar to take his seat, he brought the journal with him.

"Wow, this looks great, Mike. I don't think I've ever seen waffles achieve such altitude."

"Egg whites," Mike explained. "Stiffly beaten. That's the trick, apparently." He stood there, feeling uncertain, and finally decided to simply ask. "Um, where...I mean, are we back to where we were at day one, or when you left?" Harvey's bemused expression wasn't any help. "Should I sit on the floor, or up here with you?"

"You earned your seat up here. If for some reason you prefer sitting on the floor...." He indicated Mike's former spot with a sweep of his arm. "By all means. If you'd rather sit up here, use a towel, or put on some underpants. You earned those as well." He cut a piece of waffle, stuffed it in his mouth and spoke around it. "I thought you were supposed to have such a great memory. Why are we even talking about this?"

Feeling as if he was being made fun of, Mike scooted back to the bedroom, pulled on a pair of dark blue briefs, and was back out to the kitchen before Harvey had finished his second bite.

"This is really good, Mike. Spectacular. Maybe you should give up that bike messenger job and apply to culinary school."

Although he knew it was meant as praise, Harvey's comments hit Mike wrong for some reason. He had no desire to become a professional chef. Sure, it could be a great profession for the right person, and presumably took skill and passion and commitment, but Mike had zero interest in spending the rest of his life doing that. While Harvey required it of him, he'd put forth his best effort, but that's as far as it went. Plus, Harvey's words assumed that Mike even still had his bike messenger job. He wouldn't find out the answer to that until tomorrow. He stared down at his plate, cutting and shoving food in his mouth, hoping that Harvey couldn't see the resentment he was feeling.

"Or...something else?" continued Harvey, reading Mike as accurately as ever. He took a gulp of coffee. "Have you given any thought to your future at all?"

Mike shifted uncomfortably. "Future? What future?" He tried to make it into a joke, but even he could hear the bitterness which flavored his words.

"What? You think your life is over at twenty-five? You're young yet, Mike. You don't have to make up your mind right this second, but do me a favor -- do yourself a favor -- and think about it. What would you like to do with your life? Figure that out, make a plan, and stick with it."

Harvey made it all sound so simple and straightforward that Mike wanted to believe him. He thought he'd had it figured out once before, though, back at Columbia, before he followed Trevor into yet another disaster. Thoughts of Trevor reminded him of what he'd wanted to ask Harvey. He let a few minutes of silence pass before bringing it up.

"There was something...." He bit his lip, considering how best to put this. "I know you pretty much laid down the law yesterday. I was wondering though, with all due respect, if you could see your way, I mean just this once, to allow me...that is, I'd like to...."

"Jesus, Mike, spit it out already."

Mike gave a frustrated sigh. "I want to hear what you say to Trevor. I think I should know, for, uh, closure, for one thing. Also, in case he tries to pull an end-around, I'll know where I stand. And where he stands. And you, of course...where you stand."

"Do you not trust me to handle him for you?"

"Harvey, I do trust you. How many ways can I say it? If your answer is no, I'm cool with that. I figure you have your reasons. I'm just putting it out there."

Harvey's gaze traveled to Mike's journal. "Earlier, I might have said no. And for future reference, arguing with my decisions is not going to win you any points. However, after reading what you wrote in your journal, it seems clear that you were deeply entangled with Trevor. You make a fair point about needing closure. With that in mind, I'm granting permission for you to listen to our conversation. You don't say a word, however. Understand?"

Mike nodded vigorously. "Yes. Of course. Thank you, Sir."

"I'm serious, Mike. If you think you'll need it, I'm offering you the gag. I'm giving you the choice. If you choose to listen without the gag, and forget yourself, there will be consequences."

Mike thought about it, pushing his remaining eggs around on the plate with his fork. He wanted to show Harvey that he could behave. On the other hand, he knew Trevor, and he knew himself. Finally, the need to be good overrode the desire to impress. "I think I'd better have the gag."

Harvey's eyebrows raised, as if he hadn't been expecting that. But, "Fair enough," was all he said.

They finished their breakfast without any further words exchanged.

 

"We'll try calling him now," said Harvey, after Mike had finished washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. "If he doesn't answer, we'll keep trying every two hours. Come here."

Mike knelt next to Harvey's chair and the wiffle gag went into his waiting mouth. Harvey set Mike’s phone on the table between them and turned on the speaker before dialing Trevor's number. It connected, and rang and rang -- and Mike's anxiety climber higher and higher. On the fourth rang, Trevor answered.

"Mikey. Good news, I hope?"

Had he always sounded like such an arrogant little douchebag?

"Trevor Evans?"

Trevor's voice grew instantly guarded. "Who the fuck is this?"

"Please confirm first that I'm speaking to Trevor Evans."

"Yeah. That's me. Who the hell else would it be?"

"My name is Harvey Specter. Mike Ross has retained me as his attorney."

Mike's eyes went saucer-wide. That was a blatant lie. Or was Harvey actually intending to act as his attorney?

" _Attorney_?" squawked Trevor. "What the fuck does Mike need an attorney for? Do not tell me he fucked up his latest orders."

_Orders?_ The way Trevor said that, as if Mike was even his to order, left a foul taste in Mike's mouth. By the look on his face, Harvey wasn't overly pleased with the choice of words either.

"Here's what you need to know," said Harvey, voice going hard and dangerous. "The illegal substance stored in the unit rented in your name has been surrendered to the authorities. Further, Mike has asked me to inform you that you are to sever all ties with him, and cease any future communications. If you do not honor his wishes, legal action will be brought against you, including a no contact order with regards to my client, and possible criminal prosecution should he decide to give a statement to the police regarding your involvement in the illegal sale of drugs in New York State. Do you understand what I've just told you?"

A short silence fell on the other end of the line. Then, "I want to talk to Mike," demanded Trevor. Mike could picture his angry sneer.

"Not possible," said Harvey. "I speak for Mike. Anything you want to say, you can say to me."

"Fine. You tell that shithead, fag, punk, coward that I won't forget this. Since he is too pathetic and ungrateful to do this one simple thing for me, I'll raise the money on my own. And when I get back to New York -- when, not if -- I'm going to come looking for him, and he'll be sorry he ever decided to screw me over like –"

"Stop. Talking." Harvey paused, and then, assured that Trevor had finished his tirade, he continued. "Your threats to my client are duly noted. Try to follow through on them -- take even one sleazy step over the line -- and we will press charges against you. Don't believe me? Google my name. Harvey Specter. Take a look at how many cases I've lost. I can give you that exact number right now: zero. Feel free to confirm that, but there it is. Bottom line, if you fuck with Mike, you will be royally fucked in return. You won't see the light of day for decades. All in all, it's my considered opinion that you'd do better to stay in Seattle. Not that I care. I would positively relish putting your balls in a vise and squeezing until you beg for mercy." Another pause. "You have a lovely day now." With that, he broke the connection.

Mike expelled the breath he’d been holding. He knew his eyes remained wide. At that moment, he couldn't completely process what had just happened. The empty feeling which came with the thought of never seeing Trevor again, mixed unpleasantly with the hurt caused by the toxic words Trevor had used, making him queasy and unsettled. Had Trevor always felt that way about Mike? Is that how he spoke of him when he thought Mike couldn't hear? Or had he assumed Mike was listening, and wanted to wound him as deeply as possible?

He cast an anxious look at Harvey's face, and found only concern and compassion there. With slow, tentative movements, unsure how Harvey would react, he knee-walked closer to him and lay his head on Harvey's leg, needing the contact, and hoping Harvey wouldn't reject him.

A few seconds passed, and then Harvey's hand touched the back of his head and took up a slow, stroking motion. He petted Mike over and over, and didn't say anything, even when salty tears dampened his pant leg, and Mike's back shuddered up and down. He did unfasten the leather strap behind Mike's head, and when Mike finally lifted his tear-streaked face, Harvey gently pried the gag from his mouth.

 

******

 

Later that afternoon, they took the car out, and Mike demonstrated how his driving had improved since the last time he'd driven with Harvey.

"I guess there's something to be said for trial by fire," Harvey commented, voice sardonic despite the smile playing around his mouth.

"Maybe, but I think I took a few years off my life in the process."

"Better yours than mine."

He acquitted himself reasonably well, stalling only once, and grinding the gears twice. Harvey surprised him by directing him to a restaurant for dinner, which turned out to be casual, absurdly pricey, and with simple, delicious food. Perhaps Mike was still restocking his energy reserves after the recent stresses, or perhaps it was a relief to eat "normal" food again after catering to Jake's austere tastes, but he devoured every bite of his stuffed pork chops, and followed that up with a hefty slice of lemon poppy seed cake that must have been baked by the angels in heaven, it was that good.

Back at home, Harvey announced his need to put in a few hours catching up on work. He allowed Mike some free time, providing he kept quiet. Mike read a little and drowsed a little, perfectly content and happy stretched out on the living room floor with a pillow under his head.

He'd decided not to think about his job. Either he still had it or he didn't, and worrying about it wouldn't change the outcome. When Harvey sent him off to bed, he succumbed quickly to a sleep undisturbed by dreams.

Morning came, and he received five perfunctory swats from Harvey. When they'd finished, he stood up and waited, giving pointed looks down at his crotch, where the cock cage still held him prisoner.

"Um," he said.

"Um?"

"I've got my piss test this morning. Do you think...." He lifted his cock with one finger and then let it drop back in place. "I might get some weird looks if I show up like this. And I'll be on my bike...." Hopefully, he'd be on his bike all day. He'd gladly suffer the discomfort of his still sore bottom if he got his job back.

"Bring me the key," said Harvey. "You've earned a new privilege. You may either choose to do away with the cage permanently, or add a piece of clothing to your at-home attire."

Mike could think of a few privileges he'd rather enjoy, but he wasn't about to argue with Harvey. "I've gotten comfortable in just my briefs, so I choose the first option." He handed Harvey the key, and stood still while he worked the lock and removed the stainless steel device. "Welcome back, friend," said Mike, grabbing himself out of sheer relief. "Free at last."

"Ah, ah. Just because you're on the loose again doesn't change the rules. Hands off, and no coming unless I say so."

Mike gave him an impish smile, but released his hold. "Yes, Sir. Just wanted a quick reunion."

Harvey rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Mike could see he was fighting a smile. "Put your sweats on. We need to hurry if we're going to get our workout in."

 

******

 

The drug testing station was particularly crowded this morning. Mike was anxious to get it over with, get out of there, and find out the fate of his job. He fidgeted in his chair, waiting for his name to be called, checking his phone obsessively, as if he could have missed a call from Denny. Finally, it was his turn. As always, the tech followed procedure to the letter, confiscating Mike's messenger bag and jacket, leaving the door to the stall open, and standing against the wall, arms crossed and looking bored while Mike trickled out his sample into the plastic cup provided.

The Department of Corrections had contracted for onsite testing, so after he'd finished, Mike had another wait in the lobby for the results. He activated his phone, and was considering whether he should just call Denny and get it over with, when he heard his name again.

"Ross, Michael James?"

He waved his hand and went up to the front desk, expecting to sign off on another round of negative results. Instead he was met by a corrections officer, holding a pair of handcuffs.

"W-what?."

The CO shook his head, scorn filling his eyes. "You finally fucked up, Ross. Positive for opioids."

Mike's mind went blank with shock. He didn't fight as the officer corralled his arms behind his back and snapped on the cuffs. When he started to lead him away, his brain clicked back on.

"Wait. Wait. This is a mistake. I didn't take anything. I'm clean, I swear. Give me another test." He dug in his heels, trying to break free.

The officer was unmoved by his protests. "Don't give me any trouble," he said wearily. "You can tell it all to the judge. Right now, I just want to get you processed and off my hands." He gave Mike's arm a firm tug. "Let's go."

Stunned into silence, Mike allowed himself to be half dragged through halls, into the elevator and down two floors to Central Booking, where the CO handed over both Mike and his paperwork. Then he was taken down several sets of stairs, divested of cuffs and shoes and phone and bag and wallet, photographed, fingerprinted, and moved to a holding cell which was already crowded with the remnants of the night's -- and probably the weekend's -- arrests. He found a spot against one of the walls and sat, holding his knees to his chest and trying to will himself invisible.

He remembered this all too well from his initial arrest -- the smell of urine and feces, the revolting toilet, the twitchy, angry, sometimes hilarious fellow detainees. He kept a close eye on the payphone in the corner. There was a line of several people waiting, but slowly the room began to empty as names were called and people exited. Mike suspected they were only being moved along to another holding cell, and then to another. That's how it had gone his last time here, each move getting him closer to the judge. If the docket was especially full, as it was likely to be on a Monday morning, his arraignment wouldn't be until late in the day, or possibly not until tomorrow.

Another batch of prisoners were shuffled out, and Mike saw his opening at the phone. He stood up and made a dash for it, just beating out what looked like a massively hungover frat boy, who grumbled incoherently but didn't put up a fuss otherwise. By necessity, the call was collect. He dialed Harvey's cell phone number and then shut his eyes and gripped the receiver, begging the fates to let Harvey pick up.

Finally, he heard Harvey answer, sounding brusque and impatient. A mechanical sounding voice informed Harvey he had a collect call from the New York Department of Corrections. The long pause that followed made Mike sick with anxiety. Then Harvey stated that yes, he would take the call.

"Harvey," Mike said on a choked sob of relief. "I didn't take anything. I swear it on whatever you want me to swear on, all the graves and bibles, everything. It's a mistake. I didn't lie to you. I wouldn't. I --"

"Mike." Harvey's voice cut across his panicked rambling. "Calm down. Breathe. Can you just breathe for me? In and out. Nice and slow. That's it."

Mike obeyed without thinking, taking slow, deep breaths, and ignoring the dramatic sighs of hungover frat boy.

"Now tell me what happened," said Harvey. "Slowly and clearly."

Mike closed his eyes. There was no reason for Harvey to believe him. But he _had_ to. "M-my drug test. I tested positive for opioids. It has to be a mistake. I didn't do it. I didn't do it, Harvey."

"Okay. Don't lose it on me. Keep breathing. Where are you right now?"

"M-Manhattan Central Booking. The Tombs." He jerked away from a hand on his arm, and his eyes flew open. He shook himself loose from the grip of the frat boy, and turned his back on him. "I failed the test, and they dragged me away, just like that, like j-jackbooted thugs. I am so fucked." He whispered the last part, almost to himself.

"No, you're not." Harvey's voice cut through the buzzing in his head, strong and confident. "I'm coming down there. Just hold on. Keep it together for a little while longer. I will get you out of there."

"But you believe me, right? Harvey? Harvey?" He realized he was talking to dead air. When he turned around, he saw the frat boy with his hand on the phone’s switch hook, holding it down and smirking triumphantly. Another time, he might have launched himself at him, but any fight he had in him had drained away, and he handed the receiver to the other man without comment.

He reclaimed his spot on the floor and settled in to wait. More than the prospect of jail, or the fear of the other prisoners, the one thought that tortured him as the minutes ticked past was that through no fault of his own he may have managed to destroy the fragile trust he had begun to reestablish with Harvey. The maddening thing was, he _knew_ he hadn't taken any drugs. He knew it, but there was no good reason for Harvey to believe him.

Hell, if he'd been Harvey, he wouldn't believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! (Runs away real fast.)


	16. Chapter 16

"Hey, white boy. You're in my spot."

Mike didn't bother arguing with the low, gruff voice. He rose wearily to his feet without even looking up.

"My goodness," said the same voice, sounding amused now, "that was too easy. You better toughen up if you want to survive in here. I was just messing with you, white boy."

"It's fine. One filthy spot on the floor is about the same as another." Mike shot a glance at the other man.   He was probably twice Mike's age, with ragged salt and pepper whiskers and clothing stained an almost uniform dingy grey. He smelled like stale vomit and urine. Watery blue eyes shone with mischief within a nest of wrinkles. "Why do you keep calling me that? You're as white as I am."

"Observant. I like that." The man stuck out a grimy hand which visibly trembled. "Charles Van Dyke."

Determined not to be squeamish, Mike took his hand. "Mike Ross."

"Pleased to meet you. You looked a little down in the dumps, so I thought I'd come over and liven up your morning a little. Don't worry, kid, it's not so bad in here. In a few hours you'll get fed a truly awful bologna and cheese sandwich. There's plenty of opportunity for networking. And if you require medical attention, and are prepared to be persistent, someone might take a look at you eventually."

"It's not my first time here."

"Ah. A repeat offender. If you need any legal advice before our paths diverge, I'm your guy. I'd give you my card, but technically, I'm not allowed to practice any longer. Plus, I don't have any cards."

"No, that's okay. I have an attorney. He's on his way down here now."

"Do you now? Good for you. Hey, see that punk over there?" He nodded toward the frat boy, who was still arguing with someone on other end of the phone. "He's an appalling little turd, isn't he? I see his type in here all the time. I'm going to have some fun with the entitled ass. Observe."

Mike watched Van Dyke creep up behind the frat boy and then bellow in his ear, "Imma stab you, boy!"

Frat boy squealed and dropped the phone as if it had sprouted fangs, and retreated to the opposite corner, elbowing his way through the wretched hive of scum and villainy to get there. Van Dyke winked at Mike, but didn't return to his side. Mike watched him work his way around the room, harassing and entertaining in turn. Amazingly, he didn't get punched -- or stabbed. Many of the inmates appeared to recognize him, and afforded him the qualified, slightly exasperated respect due to the local lunatic.

What had landed him here, Mike wondered. He guessed he was a chronic drunk, and likely homeless. He appeared as comfortable and at ease in here as somebody could be. If he was to be believed, he had once been a practicing attorney. Mike spent a few minutes speculating on Van Dyke's fall, whether it had been sudden or gradual, whether he had fought it, or succumbed without a struggle.

That led to thoughts of Harvey. Mike tried to imagine him in Van Dyke's place, filthy and broken but still holding tightly to a scrap of dignity, and able to have a laugh at the world's expense. He couldn't picture it, and the effort only made him sad and tired. After a time, he claimed another patch of floor as his own and tried to make his mind a blank.

 

Hours went by. Mike refused the bologna sandwich offered for lunch. He was moved to another room, and then another one.   First the frat boy, and then Charles Van Dyke were sent on ahead, and he didn't see them again. His head began to hurt from trying to figure out the logic of whoever was in charge. It began to feel as if they simply tossed all the detainees into an enormous dice cup, shook it briskly, and let them roll every which way before randomly advancing them to whatever circle of hell was next on their stop.  

The third time Mike's name was called, he was led out of the latest holding cell, and the guard opened the door to a much smaller room. Mike nearly doubled up with a relief so exquisite it almost felt like pain. Harvey sat at a battered table, immaculate and beautiful in his three piece suit and perfect tie and perfect hair. The urge fall to his knees gripped Mike, but he couldn't. He had to remember where he was. With a nervous glance at the guard accompanying him, and at the camera in the corner of the ceiling, he nodded tightly at his Dom and whispered, "Hi."

He took his seat across the table from Harvey, and waited until he'd been cuffed to his chair and they were left alone together, before speaking softly, keeping his gaze lowered.

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much for coming. I don't know how soon I'm going in front of the judge. They don't tell you much of anything in here. It's been all waiting around, and angry crack heads, and drunks, and bad sandwiches. I'd forgotten how cold it was down here. I would have to wear my bike shorts today, right?" A wan, shaky laugh. "At least when they revoke my probation and send me to Rikers they'll replace them with long pants and I guess now I'll never know if I got my job back because I am so screwed, aren't I? But I just want you to know that this time, at least, I didn't lie to you. I didn't take anything. Opioids aren't even my thing. If you don't believe me, I'll understand. I just want the chance to take the test again, because something must have gone wrong, maybe a mix-up or --"

"Hush."

That one word cut through his nervous rambling. He closed his eyes, waiting for Harvey's verdict. Right then, it meant more to him than the one a judge would render. Something tapped against the back of his hand and he lifted his head. Harvey passed him a pamphlet. Mike grasped it, but kept his gaze on Harvey's face.

"I believe you, Mike."

Mike slumped and breathed out every molecule of air he'd been holding in. _Ohthankgodthankgod._ "Why?" His voice broke. He was after assurance more than an actual explanation.

"Because before you left Monday morning, you hadn't been out of my sight since Saturday, except to sleep. If you'd been high, I would have noticed. And because unlike you, I'm not an idiot."

Another time, that might have stung. As it was, the comment only confused him. "Oh," he said. "That's good, I guess. How am I an idiot again?"

Harvey raised his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. "You're holding in your hand the pamphlet they should have given you when you agreed to submit to weekly urinalysis. I can only assume you never read it, because with your memory you surely would have connected the dots hours ago."

"Dots?"

"Yes, Mike. Dots. As in tiny little black poppy seeds. They were in your cake yesterday, and in both the cookies and crackers you ate on Saturday night. I confirmed that with Les after you hung up on me."

"I didn't -- " He cut himself off, frowning. "Wait." Mike flipped rapidly through the pamphlet. "I knew that. Oh, fuck me, I _knew_ that." He found the paragraph he was looking for, listing poppy seeds as one possible culprit for a false positive for opioids. He exploded in sharp laughter. "Jesus fucking Christ. You are so right. I am an idiot. I'm not just an idiot, I'm a freaking moron. I was so busy panicking --"

"That you neglected to engage your mind," Harvey finished for him. "I've already sworn out an affidavit attesting to your heedless ingestion of said comestibles."

"That's a lot of big words just to say I ate some seeds," he said, grinning stupidly. "So I can get out of here? That's it?"

"It's not quite that simple. If we can get the ADA and judge to agree to hand out the verdict at the arraignment...."

"But it's a felony. The original charge was. I thought they only did that for misdemeanors."

Harvey gave him an approving nod. "That's generally true. However, since a probation violation did not, in fact, occur, which we can prove, the whole thing should go away."

Mike nodded, trusting Harvey, although he was still unable to rid himself of the deep-level anxiety that persisted. Could it really be that simple and straightforward? "Will you stay with me until we get to the courtroom?"

"Your group is up in about two hours. You'll have to go back to the holding cell until then. In the meantime, I'll see if I can hunt down the ADA assigned to your case."

Mike tried to keep up a brave face, but it wasn't easy. When Harvey stood up, Mike found he couldn't look at him, couldn’t stand to watch him walk out the door and leave him behind.

Instead of leaving, though, Harvey moved behind Mike, so close he could feel the heat coming off him, and smell his spicy aftershave. He placed a hand on the back of Mike's neck and leaned down so his lips were inches from Mike's ear. "You're going to be okay, baby," he whispered. "I promise."

His fingers moved almost imperceptibly at the nape of Mike's neck, tickling the tiny hairs there and making him shiver. "Close your eyes for me, sweetheart. Imagine that we're alone. Not here, but at home. You're on the kitchen floor, on your hands and knees, naked and ready. When I decide to, I'm going to push into you, hard and fast, and it's going to hurt, but you're going to take it like the good boy I know you are. Do you feel that? I'm fucking into you now. It seems like it's been going on for hours, and you're struggling to stay in one place, to keep from sliding across the floor, and your knees hurt and you're so hard that you ache with it, but you're not allowed to come. All you're allowed to do is take what I give you, so that's what you do."

And then he broke the contact and moved away. "I'll see you in there," he tossed over his shoulder on his way out. The door closed behind him.

Mike wanted to bang his head on the table. Harvey's words had gotten him rock hard. _Bastard_. At least his t-shirt was long, and partially disguised his condition. When the guard entered to uncuff him and return him to the holding cell, he was so caught up in worries about his appearance, he forgot to worry about the upcoming arraignment, which, of course, had been Harvey's intention.

 

******

 

Mike sat at the defendant's table. Three feet away, Harvey and the ADA stood with their heads together, whispering and gesticulating. Mike assumed they were discussing his case, and resented the fact that he wasn't allowed to hear what they were saying. The judge was absent, and Mike had just begun to wonder what that was about when the bailiff ordered them to "all rise," and she swept in and took her seat. Mike's case was announced, and his plea requested, to which Harvey answered "not guilty."

"I move that all charges be dropped," said Harvey.

"Based on what?" The judge sounded both bored and distracted.

"We can prove that the defendant's false positive on the urinalysis occurred as a result of his consumption of food items containing poppy seeds."

"You have witnesses, I take it?"

"I do. Including myself. I personally saw him inhale a piece of poppy seed cake as big as his head."

A ripple of laughter washed through the courtroom.

The judge sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'll allow retesting in one week. If he passes, I'll drop the charges and reinstate probation under the original terms."

"Thank you, your honor."

"In the meantime, do the people recommend bail or remand?"

The ADA opened his mouth, but Harvey cut him off before he could speak.

"Neither is appropriate, your honor. My client did nothing wrong. We'd like him released on his own recognizance."

"I'm certain you would," said the judge drily. "But he's facing prison time if he fails the test."

"That's right," interrupted the ADA, apparently feeling left out. "The people consider the defendant a possible flight risk, and request remand."

"That's ridiculous," retorted Harvey. He glared at the ADA.

"He has no ties to the community. No family."

Her honor toyed with the gavel, twirling it like a tiny baton.   "He makes a valid point, Mr. Specter. Can you guarantee he'll show up for his test next week?"

"What if he was released into my custody?"

The judge tilted her head down to stare at Harvey over her reading glasses. "You do realize what you're asking for, correct? Mr. Ross would have to stay under your roof for the week, and if he disappears, you'll be facing some stiff penalties."

"I understand. And he won't."

She shrugged. "Fine. Knock yourself out. Defendant is placed in the custody of Mr. Harvey Specter, and is ordered to present himself for urinalysis in one week's time." She banged the gavel. "Next case."

 

******

 

"Just theoretically," asked Mike as Harvey drove him home, "what happens to you if I flee the state?"

"Like the judge said. I pay some heavy fines. Probably get cussed out by her. Why? You planning on making a break for it?"

"Nope."

"Glad to hear it."

 

Harvey had to go back to work after he dropped Mike off. It was already past three, but since he'd been out of town for a week, he didn't have the luxury of blowing off the rest of the day. Before Mike exited the car, he thanked Harvey again.

"I mean it, Sir. I know this all had to be inconvenient as fuck for you. And I know I don't get to choose, but I wish you'd let me do something to show you how grateful I am. Shit, I'd blow you right now, if you’d let me."

"Tempting, but the only thanks I need is your continued good behavior. Don't expect me for dinner tonight. I'll be working late.” He considered Mike, studying his face. “You’ll be okay on your own?”

Mike pointed a thumb at his chest. “Scared straight, here.”

Harvey gave him a half-smile. “Something positive, then.” He touched a finger to Mike’s knee. “You have my permission to take it easy tonight. Watch a movie if you want to. Get takeout. Order yourself something you like for dinner. Maybe stay away from poppy seeds, though."

"Ha ha."

Harvey hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else. He smiled at Mike and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Get going. Later this week, when I'm not so busy, I'll think of something enjoyable for the both of us. I think we could both use a little fun for a change of pace."

"Tease," said Mike. He saw Harvey's eyes start to narrow, and decided it was a good time to make his escape.

 

At ten o'clock, Mike got tired of waiting for Harvey – in fact he was plain tired, period. He'd showered, ordered a pizza, cleaned rooms that didn't need cleaning, written in his journal, watched _Equilibrium_ on Netflix, planned menus for the rest of the week, and remembered, as he was brushing his teeth, that he'd never called Denny, and still did not know if he had a job. Thank goodness the judge hadn't thought to quiz him about his employment situation.

Fighting down the urge to text Harvey, he peeled off his briefs and crawled into bed. He immediately wanted to touch himself, and to expand on the little fantasy Harvey had planted in his mind earlier. It was so tempting to rub one out. Harvey never had to know. He couldn't do it, though. Disobedience would be a poor way to repay Harvey for saving his ass today. In the end, he resigned himself to frustration, and thought almost longingly of the cock cage, and how it had simplified this particular struggle.

The clean, soft sheets and comfortable mattress reminded him of how he _could_ be spending tonight, if Harvey hadn't gotten him out.   He resolved to keep that forever in his thoughts – the rank smell of urine and stale sweat, and the desperate, angry, buzzing energy of the place – to remind himself why he needed to be good and stay clean, no matter what else happened in his life.

 

Mike hadn’t been asleep for long when he was awoken by the sound of a key in the front door.   A quick glance at his phone showed him that it was just after midnight. Yawning hugely, he climbed out of bed and went out to the front room to find Harvey hanging up his coat, and looking completely wiped out.

"Can I do anything for you, Sir?" Mike asked him. "Are you hungry?"

“I thought you’d be asleep.” His gaze took in all of Mike, from head to toe, eyes darkening as his pupils dilated.

“I was.” He shifted nervously from one foot to the other, pleading with his dick to maintain his dignity and keep playing dead. The looks Harvey was giving him were doing strange things to his insides. “There’s leftover pizza. Did you eat yet?”

“Barely. That sounds good.” He tugged at his tie, grimacing as he worked it loose. “I think I’ll change first, though.” He walked down the hall holding his jacket in one hand and his tie in the other, trailing along the floor.

Mike put a couple of slices of pizza on a plate, put them in the microwave and set the timer. He set a place on the counter, added a glass of ice water. The timer dinged, and he removed the pizza. To his eye, it looked greasy and unappetizing, and he wished he’d taken the time to cook an actual meal for Harvey. As he waited for Harvey to come back, he became caught up in musing about how he had advanced from a grudging sort of performance of his chores, to this feeling of devotion, this compulsion to serve.

“Thanks, Mike,” said Harvey, startling him out of his thoughts. He was wearing only pajama bottoms. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight, but I’m glad you’re still up.” He gestured toward Mike’s customary stool. “Have a seat.”

Mike hesitated, and then sat on the floor instead. His towel was still neatly folded in his old spot. “Did you manage to get caught up?” he asked.

Harvey’s mouth was already full of pizza. He chewed energetically and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Made a sizeable dent. I should be able to leave work at a more reasonable hour tomorrow.” He drank half his glass of water and licked his lips, eyeing Mike. “You doing okay?”

Mike shrugged. “Sure. Still a little freaked out maybe. Wondering if I’m employed.”

“Ah. About that.”

“You know something?”

“I’m sorry. It slipped my mind. I wanted an accurate assessment of your situation in case the judge brought it up, so I gave the messenger company a call.”

“And?” It was all Mike could do to stay seated.

“That boss of yours…Danny?”

“Denny.”

“That’s the one. He has a terrible temper.”

“What did you say to him? What did he say to you?”

Harvey gave Mike a wry smile. “You want the whole play-by-play? All right. I told him you wouldn’t be in. He exploded in some truly inventive language. And…well, I’m afraid things went downhill from there.”

“How far downhill?”

“Subterranean.”

“So I’m fired.” He leaned his head back and bumped it softly against the wall. “Fuck.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Mike. You’ll find something else. Something better.”

“Yeah? You got any openings at your firm?” He was angry, worried, agitated, and goddamn Harvey was still smiling as he polished off his second slice.

“As a matter of fact….” He let the sentence hang there, unfinished.

Mike stared at him in disbelief. “If you’re just messing with me right now, it’s not funny.”

Harvey wiped his hands and threw his balled up napkin down on top of his empty plate. Too nervous to sit still, Mike jumped to his feet to clean up.

“Actually,” said Harvey, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, ever since your help on the Clifford Danner case. It’s a little tricky, since Jessica’s already met you in all your naked glory, and she knows we have a prior relationship. You couldn’t work for me, directly. However, there’s a busy paralegal who could use an assistant….”

Mike tried to feel excited, but he had no idea if he’d even like the job. He was grateful, though, that Harvey had thought of him, so he shrugged and made himself smile. “That would be great. If Jessica goes for it, that is. I’d be willing to give it a try.”

“It would only be until you decide what you want to do with your life. It pays better than the messenger company. Think it over, and I’ll pitch it to Jessica this week.”

Mike nodded and tossed the sponge onto the counter. “Whatever happens, I’m going to be bored out of my mind until I start working again.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to give you something to do. Right at this moment, I’m too tired to think about it.” He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Can I ride my bike over to Brooklyn tomorrow?”

Harvey frowned. “What for?”

“I should probably check my mail. Plus I thought I’d swing by my grandmother’s old nursing home. They sent me this crazy bill that I need to straighten out.”

“Would you like me to take a look at it?”

The simple offer warmed Mike all the way through. “Yeah, maybe. If they give me any problems about it, I’ll let you know.” He should say good night now and head to bed. He wondered why Harvey didn’t do the same, but the other man continued to stare at Mike with an odd expression on his face.

The silence stretched, and Harvey’s gaze slipped from Mike’s face and down his body. The attention caused Mike’s cock to begin to plump. He fought the urge to cover himself with his hands. When Harvey took a step in his direction, he lowered his own gaze to the floor and placed his hands behind his back. Harvey closed the distance between them and took Mike’s chin in his hand, gently tilting his face back up, so they were looking one another in the eye. It suddenly became a struggle for Mike to breathe.

“I’m glad,” murmured Harvey, “that things worked out today the way they did. I was worried about you. I don’t want either of us to go through that again.”

“No, Sir.” Mike felt trapped and confused by Harvey’s scrutiny. “I’ll be perfect,” he whispered. “From now on, I’ll get it right – everything.” He shifted backwards minutely and let the cool surface of the refrigerator take his weight. “Do you….” He licked his lips. “Can I do anything else for you tonight?”

Harvey released his chin, and let his hand drift down to settle against Mike’s throat, his thumb moving in circles over the sensitive spot under one ear. “If I wasn’t so tired….” He leaned in, and Mike’s breath caught at the anticipated kiss. Harvey veered at the last second and his lips merely brushed Mike’s cheek before he pulled back and reached out to touch the same spot with one finger.

Mike’s chest heaved up and down, and his pulse sped crazily. “I could do all the work,” he offered, voice hoarse.

Harvey ran his finger up the underside of Mike’s erect cock, making him gasp and shudder.

“That’s a sweet offer,” said Harvey. “A sweet offer from a sweet boy.” He pinned Mike to the refrigerator with his body and kissed his shoulder and then nipped it lightly. “Not tonight, though. I meant it when I said I was too tired.” He grasped Mike’s cock with one hand and pumped his fist up and down several times. “We’ll both have to take a raincheck.”

He lifted off of Mike, spun him around, and sent him off in the direction of his bedroom with several ringing swats to his bare bottom. Inside his room, Mike ground his teeth in frustration. _Fucking tease_.

He crawled under the covers, lecturing his dick to lay down and behave. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t stop grinning. As unlikely as it had seemed just twelve hours earlier, he was home, and safe, and felt closer to Harvey than ever. And a raincheck meant he wouldn’t be frustrated forever. Maybe Harvey’s clients would give him a break, and he’d be home at a decent hour tomorrow…or today.

Just before he succumbed to sleep, Mike remembered to set the alarm on his phone for five a.m., and had to wonder when, exactly, he’d moved from dreading his morning discipline to anticipating it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Missed my regular posting schedule by a couple of days. This chapter fought me...it fought me hard.

After Harvey left for work, Mike made his planned trip to his grandmother's nursing home. He waited for over an hour to see the administrator, one Mr. August Delroy, and when he was finally allowed into his office, the small man looked Mike up and down with a distaste and disappointment which Mike didn't understand.

"Mr. Ross," he began, "we've been patient, but as you've made no effort to pay the outstanding balance on your grandmother's account, we have no choice but to refer the matter to a collection agency."

Mike forced down the immediate spike of anger and passed the billing statement across the desk. "This is the first bill I've received from you. And it doesn't even tell me what the charges are for. There's just a total: eighteen thousand and change. My grandmother passed away nearly six months ago.   I don't see what you could possibly be billing me for now."

Delroy reached into one of his desk drawers and extracted a file folder which he opened on his desk. He flipped through some pages. Despite leaning forward and craning his neck, Mike was unable to see past Delroy's shielding arms.

"Here it is. There were some, ah, necessary medical procedures involved in her final days. A specialist was consulted. Tests and labs. And then of course, the cost of, er, disposal and all arrangements involved therein."

Mike found he couldn't speak for a moment, could only sit there with his mouth hanging open. Then, "That's crap," he half-shouted. "You...this place and its lousy staff didn't do dick for Grammy. I was in here every day, that last week. She was in pain and I couldn't even squeeze a goddamn shot of morphine out of you bastards. What specialist? What procedures? I want a detailed, itemized bill, and I want to talk to this so-called specialist before I pay one cent."

Delroy pressed his lips together, probably trying to look regretful, but only succeeding in appearing even smarmier than before. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Privacy of the patient, you see."

White hot anger filled Mike. He knew without a doubt that Delroy was full of shit. Mike had been legally responsible for his grandmother, and had every right to see her records. Plus she was dead, for fuck's sake. Every instinct urged him to scream at the man, to recite laws and statutes and precedent. He pushed that all down, though, and leaned back in his chair, forcing a frosty smile to his lips.

"You're making a mistake," he informed Delroy. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "I'll give you fifteen seconds to stamp 'paid in full' on this bill, or I guarantee you'll regret it."

Delroy's confident expression faltered only slightly. "Perhaps I could be persuaded to reduce the balance, by, say, twenty percent? If you paid in cash, of course."

"Four, three, two, one. Time's up. I guess you'll be hearing from my attorney." He stood up, snatching the statement back from the desktop.

Delroy gave a derisive snort. "Your attorney? I'll be sure not to hold my breath. I doubt you could afford even the most desperate ambulance chaser in the city."

Secure in the knowledge that with Harvey, he had all four aces up his sleeve, Mike continued to smile serenely as he exited the building. He'd bit down on his scathing parting shot to Delroy, but in his mind, he was giving him both barrels.

_Prepare for hellfire to rain down on your pointy little head._

 

"I'll do it," were the first words out of Mike's mouth when Harvey got home at seven o'clock that evening. "I'll take that job, if your boss will go for it."

After he'd returned from Brooklyn, he'd occupied himself with little tasks around the condo, cleaning, prepping for dinner, organizing Harvey's vinyl collection, and then putting all the records back where they'd been in case Harvey disapproved. He read a little, watched some television, wrote in his journal...and then it was one o'clock and he used up a whole half hour preparing and eating a sandwich. After that, the empty hours stretched in front of him, giving him too much time to think and worry and wonder about where his life might be headed.

By the time Harvey walked through the door, Mike knew he couldn't survive many more days like that with his sanity intact. He had all sorts of concerns and uncertainty about working with -- or in close proximity to -- Harvey, but it had to be better than what he'd just endured.

Harvey paused with his hand on the door knob, staring down at where Mike knelt on the floor. He shut the door and smiled. "Good call." He set his briefcase near the door, and handed his coat, and jacket and tie to Mike. "I'll bring it up with Jessica tomorrow."

Mike hung up his coat, and followed him to the living room. "How soon do you think I'd be able to start? I'm kind of bored. There's not a lot to do around here."

Harvey sat heavily in his arm chair and let Mike help him out of his shoes. "Probably Monday at the earliest."

Mike grimaced. "Ugh. Any chance you've got something for me to work on before that?"

Harvey didn't smile, but the crinkles around his eyes betrayed his good humor. "I've got a few things that should keep you busy. I'm going to send you to my tailor. You'll need something to wear if Jessica gives us the green light like I think she will. And here's another little field trip you might find enjoyable." He handed Mike a slip of paper with an address on it.

Mike squinted at the address, noting that it was somewhere in midtown. "What's this?"

"That's the address of the diner where Clifford Danner is employed. I told you he wanted to meet you. Take some time this week to go see him. He works the day shift."

A sudden bout of nerves took hold of Mike, but he nodded and committed the address to memory. "Speaking of field trips, I visited Grammy's nursing home."

"Oh? How did that go?"

Mike told him the story of his meeting with August Delroy.

"Do you have the billing statement?" Harvey asked him when he'd finished.

Mike had left it on the coffee table, and he handed it to Harvey now.

After studying the bill for a few seconds, "I'll take care of it," said Harvey. He didn't elaborate, but he didn't have to. Mike almost felt sorry for the unsuspecting Mr. Delroy. Almost.

 

After dinner -- gorgonzola stuffed burgers and roasted sweet potato fries -- Mike asked cautiously, "Any chance...I mean, rainchecks were mentioned...."

Harvey grinned and pulled a set of keys from his pants pocket, which he dangled in front of Mike.

"I'm a little afraid to ask what those go to." Mike was thinking of the cock cage, and frankly nervous about whatever else of his Harvey might have taken a notion to lock up.

Harvey's grin deepened, as if he had read Mike's mind. "No need for panic. Jake had to head back to Toronto. He'll be gone for at least a week, and he's given us full use of his play room during that time."

At the mere mention of the play room, Mike began to grow hard. "What...when?" He licked his lips.

"Not tonight. And tomorrow you have your meeting. Let's plan on it for Friday. I'll see if I can sneak out of work a little early."

Mike’s smile went all the way to his ears. "Does this mean I'm going to get fucked?"

"Oh, I'll fuck the hell out of you. Provided you earn it, that is."

"How? I mean, what...."

"I haven't decided, but this will give me some time to plan."

Planning sounded...promising. It sound worrying as well. Mike chose to focus on the former.

Harvey didn't give him much time to savor the news, however. He left Mike to handle the cleanup, and when he returned he carried Mike's cock cage, the wiffle gag and leather hood. Mike lifted one eyebrow. "Did I do something wrong?" He couldn't imagine, what. Even thinking of it made his stomach spasm.

"No. Not at all. You seem on edge tonight, and I thought you could use some quiet time."

"Me, or you?"

"You see? You're getting lippy already. Let's nip that in the bud, shall we?"

A few weeks ago, Mike might have been upset, or offended, but he submitted to Harvey without another word. He could even admit to himself that this was better than staring off into space all evening. When he was for all intents and purposes deaf and dumb and blind, his thoughts quieted almost instantly, and when Harvey cuffed his wrists behind his back and encouraged him to rest his head on his thigh, peace flowed through him, and the minor worries and anxiety that had plagued him all day disappeared.

 

******

 

"Harvey sent me. Uh, Harvey Specter?"

The tailor, Rene, sniffed, but gestured Mike further into the shop, urging him up onto a small, round platform, and walking in a slow circle around him. "Not bad. Decent lines. Too skinny, but I can work with this. Strip down to your shorts, please."

Mike had almost forgotten about the cock cage, but when he stood in only his tight briefs, Rene measured his inseam, and the metal tab on the end of his tape measure made a muffled _tink_ against the cage. He gave Mike an arch look over the top of his glasses. "I begin to understand," he murmured.

As Rene continued to measure and jot down numbers, Mike tried to work out what he'd meant by that remark, and wondered if he should be offended or amused. In the end, he decided he didn't care. Let the man think what he would.

After receiving assurances that his new suits would be ready before Monday, Mike left the shop, trying not to dwell on how much this was costing Harvey. He wished he had the funds to reimburse Harvey, but Harvey had insisted that this was his treat to Mike. He'd figure out a way to pay him back somehow, he decided, as he biked the ten blocks to _Grace's on 35th_ to meet Clifford Danner.

He found the recently released ex-con sweeping the floor of the small diner. When Mike introduced himself, Danner's face lit up in a smile, his broom clattered to the floor, and he pulled Mike into an unexpected bear hug. He thumped Mike on the back several times before letting him go.

"There aren't enough ways to say thanks, man. I only wish Harvey had met you a few years earlier." He looked Mike up and down. "But I guess when I got locked up you were probably still in...kindergarten?"

Mike laughed. "I'm not _that_ young. And I got lucky. Harvey did all the actual work. Well, and Jessica Pearson too, I hear."

"Still, they say it was your bright idea that got those assholes to confess. Whatever you need, any favor you want, any help, you just let me know, okay?"

Mike shrugged, embarrassed by the praise. "Sure, sure."

"You want something to eat? My treat. This place may look like a dive, but the food's pretty good."

Mike wanted to say no. He'd eaten breakfast with Harvey earlier. It wasn't like he had anything else to do today, though, so after a hesitation, he nodded at Danner. "Maybe just some coffee and toast."

"Fuck that shit. I'm gonna have Jerry make you some pancakes, and a nice omelet, and get you some fresh squeezed orange juice. We'll do you up right."

Mike tried to protest that it was too much, but Danner was having none of it. He got Mike seated at a booth and proceeded to ply him with so much food, Mike was afraid he might become ill.

When it was time for his break, Danner sat across from Mike. "So what's your deal, anyway? You in law school?"

A nervous laugh. "No. That was the plan, once upon a time, but I managed to screw that up."

"And? You're still young. Do it. You've got the smarts, and you're obviously creative and a little bit sneaky. What's stopping you?"

"Um. Lots of things. Money, for one. Plus I have a record. No jail time, but I'm a few months into three years of probation. I'm not sure I'm lawyer material."

"Why not? They all crooks anyway." He gave Mike a searching look. "So, what did you get popped for?"

Mike laughed again. "It was my inaugural attempt at entering the exciting world of drug dealing."

Danner's expression grew cynical. "And no jail time? Go figure. Must be that lilywhite baby face, and those big blue eyes."

Mike blushed. "I hate to say it, but you're probably right." He fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug. "Anyway...what are your plans, now that you're out?"

Danner leaned back, one arm across the top of the booth. "Just gonna breathe some free air for a while. Keep my nose clean. Eventually, maybe I'll start my own business. Don't know what yet, but I'm trusting in the good lord to show me the way."

Mike didn't have an answer for that. The "good lord" had never seen fit to give him any guidance, not that he'd noticed, but he had Harvey for that now. Let all the lightning in the world strike him, he mused, but he figured he'd gotten the better deal.

 

******

 

_I'm so glad this week is over. Being unemployed is fucking brutal. That ends Monday, though. I've said thank you in person, but now you get it in writing as well. Thank you thank you thank you. I know I still have to meet with Jessica first thing Monday morning, and there's a chance her instincts might tell her to show me right back out the door, but I'm not going to worry about that now. Not much, anyway._

_David wasn't at the meeting Wednesday night. Should I concerned about him? I mean, I wasn't exactly looking forward to running into him, but he seems like one messed up kid, and I had hopes that maybe Jake would take him on. I'm not sure who would have the most difficult time of it there, David or Jake._

_Nah, it would be David, obviously._

_I should probably be giving you more Tales of Terror and Moral Turpitude from the life of Michael James Ross. I haven't even begun to delve yet into the Slut Years, which was basically everything from when I was seventeen until my arrest. Let's just say, horny young man, plus booze, plus drugs, equals a lot of bad decisions._

_A lot._

_I mean really. A lot._

_***_

_Okay, here is just a taste._

_My First Time._

_Like I said, I was seventeen. I'd just come out to Trevor, who took it pretty well, actually. I had to say something, because he'd taken it as his personal quest to get me laid. He didn't give up, just switched genders, and started in asking searching questions of some of the boys at school. I put a stop to that as soon as I found out, because that had disaster written all over it._

_His next bright idea was to get fake IDs for the two of us, so we could visit this gay bar I'd heard about. He came through on part one of the plan, but when it came down to it, he balked at walking through the door of the place I'd picked out._

_So I went without him._

_Shit, I was so nervous. I think my knees were literally shaking. I sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. Two guys sitting together kept looking my way and laughing. I'm sure I looked exactly like what I was. Fake ID or not, the bartender should have thrown me out of there._

_Three beers in, and I gained some confidence. The place had filled up a little, the music was loud and the bass line felt like it was vibrating inside my balls. I just wanted to get this done. I was so ready. I'd moved around to the side of the bar, so I could keep an eye on the front door. Finally, a guy came in -- the guy, the one I wanted. He was tall, dark haired, a hint of muscles, an arrogant smirk on his face._

_Later, I would realize that he looked an awful lot like Trevor, but just then I was too occupied with dealing with my erection, and using the sparse amount of blood remaining in my brain to figure out how to approach him. That was solved when he caught me staring._

_The next part went just how I'd imagined it. He came right over and sat next to me. "Buy you a drink?" he asked, and I nodded shyly. He asked me my name, and I made something up. He put his hand on my leg and I nearly melted off the stool and into a puddle on the floor. "Let's get out of here," he suggested, and I agreed immediately._

_After that, things veered from the tidy little script in my head. He led me out the back door, and into the alley, fumbling with his zipper before the door had slammed behind us. "Suck me," he ordered, but I'd frozen, staring at his dick and breathing in wafts of rotten fruit and rancid grease. He glanced up and down the alley and then grabbed my arm, dragging me closer. "Come on, kid. We doing this or what?"_

_My immediate response might have been "or what," but then I remembered why I was there and found my resolve. So I slid to my knees, ignoring the slimy feel of the ground and the moldy lumps of cardboard piled next to the dumpster. I licked my lips and took him gingerly in my fist. Unsure, I glanced up at him and he gave me an encouraging smile. "Just pretend it's the best lollipop you ever had."_

_So I gave him a tentative lick, and then another, and he plumped right up. I felt this little thrill of pride, like, "Hey, I did that." I put my mouth over the tip, ran my tongue around it, tasting him, and he groaned, deep in his chest, and grabbed my head, digging his fingers into my scalp, and shoved me down and thrust up at the same time. He was a mouthful -- and a throatful -- and for a few seconds I thought I was going to choke. I couldn't breathe, but I didn't want to look like the green little virgin I was. I'm sure he'd already guessed as much, but he didn't take it easy on me._

_I held my own for a while, swallowing, and tonguing, moving up and down, figuring it out. God, he tasted good. When he pushed me down on him again, I was ready for it. I worked my throat around him, and he seemed to like that. I moaned and he just lost it, humping into my mouth, strong hands holding my head stationary so he could keep hitting his target._

_My eyes were wide open, and I watched his face as he started to come. Every muscle tightened and clenched, his eyes shut, and his mouth fell open. I expected a flood of spunk at the back of my throat, was kind of dreading it and waiting for it, but he pulled out and came all over my face and neck, made a complete mess of my shirt, but I couldn't have cared less._

_I was struggling with my own zipper, because all I could think about was getting my dick out and jacking myself off. I'd forgotten where we even were by then. This guy wasn't done with me. He could have just left me there. Eventually I would come to expect that. This guy, though. He got himself tucked back in and hauled me to my feet. I don't know what he found to bend me over, and I didn't care. All I know is that something dug into my middle, and I found myself staring down at a pile of cigarette butts._

_"You ever been finger fucked?" he whispered in my ear. Well, technically I had, if you counted my own fingers, but I shook my head. My gasping breaths sounded explosive in the narrow alley. He whipped my pants down around my knees and bit down on my shoulder while his blunt fingers poked and jabbed and finally found their way inside me. It hurt, but goddamn, it felt so good at the same time. I tried to grab my dick, but he ordered me to leave it alone. "You're going to come just from my fingers," he growled, sending a convulsive shiver down my spine._

_I didn't believe him, but after several minutes of ruthlessly working my ass and panting hotly against the back of my neck, he hit my happy spot and it was all over. I yelled stupidly and splooged everywhere -- my pants, my shoes, the pile of cigarette butts on the ground. The guy laughed, wiped his fingers on the back of my shirt, and gave me a friendly slap on the ass. "You're really something, kid."_

_I straightened and pulled my pants up, already worrying how I was going to get home and slip inside without Grammy getting a good look at me. My de-virginizer lit a cigarette and eyed me, a half-grin on his face. "I could have so much fun with you," he sighed on an exhale of smoke. "You sure you're legal?" I didn't bother to answer him. "Let me take you somewhere more private, where we can take our time."_

_I had school the next day, so I shook my head. Then, against my better judgment, I offered, "I could meet you here again Saturday night. If you want."_

_He turned brusque. "Yeah sure. Absolutely. See you around kid." And then he was gone._

_I went back on Saturday, like I said I would. I never saw him again, though._

 

_******_

 

Harvey closed the journal and set it aside. He gave Mike a long stare, but made no comment otherwise. "You did as I instructed?" he finally asked

"Yes, Sir. Clean as a...uh...as a clean thing. Inside and out."

 _"_ A whistle."

"Huh?"

"As clean as a...never mind."

"Oh, right. Hey, does that mean you're gonna blow me?"

"One more terrible joke and you won't be coming at all tonight."

"Sorry, Sir."

"Hm." Harvey stood and walked around Mike where he knelt on the floor. "No more talking for now.   I want you to save your voice for all the screaming and begging I expect you'll do." His mouth curved up in a smile which was equal parts wicked and playful.

Mike's cock tried to swell inside its cage, and he broke out in a light sweat.

"When we get to Jake's, remove your clothes and head straight for the play room. I have to prepare a few things, so kneel quietly and wait for me." He palmed the back of Mike's head. "If you're a good boy, and follow all my orders tonight, I'll let you come. Otherwise, that cage goes back on, and will stay on for another week. Understood?"

Mike nodded eagerly. He’d made a promise that he’d be good – he’d be perfect – and he meant to keep it.

 

“We probably could have accomplished this well enough at home, but the sound-proofing in here is second to none. This will give me a chance to really play with you, with no distractions. Plus, the furniture is useful.” Harvey kicked Mike’s legs further apart and pressed down on his back so it was nearly parallel to the floor.

Mike was naked, the cock cage was gone, and he was already fully erect. Harvey had him standing bent over the spanking bench, with his wrists cuffed underneath it. He was blindfolded, but not gagged.

“I won't tell you what’s coming next. The best thing you can do is relax and accept whatever I give you. Make all the noise you want, but no talking. No swearing this time. And don’t move.”

Harvey started out with a flogger, warming up Mike’s back and bottom, taking his time and lulling him into a relaxed, dreamy state. With each jarring thud on his backside, the distractions and worries of the week melted further away. His Dom had taken control and Mike could finally let go. He gave a sigh of pure gratitude and let the bench take his full weight.

Too soon, Harvey stopped and moved away briefly. When he returned, he had switched out the flogger for what felt like a narrow, lightweight paddle that made a loud _slap_ every time it struck. It hurt, but not unbearably so. Mike decided that he liked this, and went lax and loose, with only the occasional grunt or soft sigh escaping. The paddling went on for a good long while, until Mike’s ass throbbed hotly. Finally, the paddle stilled, and Harvey ran a hand over Mike's bottom as if testing the heat.

“Stay exactly like that,” Harvey said, and left the room

Mike barely had enough time to wonder where’d he gone, before he was back. Mike heard him set something on the small table, and seconds later he was standing behind Mike again. No warning was given. Something cold touched Mike’s ass and he gave an involuntary flinch. The cold pressed against his hot flesh and he cried out. _Ice_ , he realized. A second piece was pressed to his other cheek. Harvey dragged the ice over his bottom, making Mike shiver. As the ice melted, cold drips of water ran down the back of his thighs.

Harvey slid a fresh ice cube between Mike's cheeks, up and down, before resting it against his hole. Holding Mike open with one hand, he iced his crack, then stopped and pressed one corner firmly against him, barely breaching him, but sending a shiver through his whole body. Mike groaned. He wanted to push back against the ice, to feel more of it inside him. He’d been ordered not to move, though. He opened his mouth to curse, but at the last moment changed it to, “Shi…..aaahhh.”

Harvey let out a low chuckle and moved his other hand beneath Mike, running ice over his balls. Mike whined in the back of his throat, fighting the urge to squirm away from the cold. When Harvey ran the ice up the underside of his cock, it became difficult to breathe. He should have wilted at the contact, but it only excited him more. Harvey didn't let up until the ice had melted and Mike was panting and shuddering. He felt Harvey unfasten his cuffs.

“Stand up,” said Harvey with a hand under his arm, and led him across the room. He made him lie face up on what Mike guessed was Jake’s bondage table. Underneath him, he could feel the sheet he'd notice draped over it when he first entered the room.

Harvey cuffed each of Mike’s arms straight out to the side and strapped him in at wrist and elbows to supports which had been moved perpendicular to the table. Then, “Bend your knees,” he instructed. Mike set his feet flat on the table and Harvey slid a bar under his knees. He couldn’t see how Harvey secured it, but when he was finished, Mike was bent almost in half, knees wide apart, feet off the table and ass in the air, making him feel exposed and vulnerable.

He listened to Harvey’s movements, straining for some clue as to what he was preparing. He heard a faint _scritch_ and seconds later caught a whiff of smoke. Ice pressed against each nipple, circling them and making them harden. Mike moaned and struggled against his bonds, but there was no escape.

“Don’t move,” Harvey murmured.

The ice was removed. Mike cried out in surprise as scalding heat landed on first one nipple, and then the other. He writhed, unable to help himself, as the trail of heat dripped slowly down his chest…his belly…his inner thighs. He had just figured out that Harvey was using hot wax on him, when a gob of it landed between his ass checks, barely missing his puckered entrance. He gave a violent jerk, hissing through clenched teeth. He waited, tense and anxious, every now and then remembering to breathe in, and to breathe out.

“I have to leave the room again,” said Harvey, “but I’ll be right back.”

Mike waited in the dark, feeling the wax harden and pull at his skin. He was so hard, so ready, and wondered what else Harvey had planned for him. The other man returned, and more items thunked down on the table.

With his thumbnails, Harvey scraped the wax from Mike’s nipples, and pinched them hard. Chilled metal touched Mike’s skin – nipple clamps, he realized as Harvey screwed them into place. They must have been in the freezer for a while. He grunted at the sensation of cold which seemed to drill though his nerves and straight to his cock. He tested the restraints that held his arms, and moved his shoulders restlessly.

Harvey played with the clamps for a while, tugging and teasing, holding ice to them to get them cold again, and then dripping wax in his belly button, or on his sensitive inner thighs. Mike let out sharp yells with each new surprise assault.

“I need you to relax for me now,” said Harvey. Seconds later, something ice cold touched Mike's hole, and was worked inside, slippery and chilled, making him gasp. “This glass dildo has been in the freezer all afternoon. It might be uncomfortable.”

Mike cried out at the sensation. Freezing cold filled his rectum, setting his confused nerves jangling. Harvey paused and then fucked the dildo in and out, keeping his movements shallow at first. More wax hit the back of Mike’s thigh, and then dripped directly onto his balls. He screamed. The dildo sped up, plunged deeper. Ice pressed against Mike’s balls, exactly where the wax had landed. Every bit of him jerked, trying to get away, but he had nowhere to go. He sucked in a breath, and let it out in a hoarse shout when the ice cold dildo brushed his prostate, again and again.

Suddenly, he was empty, the dildo removed. He moaned softly, listening intently to Harvey’s subtle movements. He should have guessed what was coming next, but it still took him by surprise. A new dildo – or the same one? – pressed into him, but now it had been heated.

“God,” gasped Mike, without thinking. Harvey worked the dildo in and out of him, and slowly the heat built inside of Mike, hotter and hotter, making him sweat and squirm. “No,” he groaned. “I c-can’t….” He bit down on the words.

“Heated lube,” Harvey explained. "The friction activates it." As if to prove his point, he sped his movements until Mike thought he would go out of his mind, or perhaps catch fire from the inside out.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harvey relented, and pulled the dildo free. Then the cold dildo returned. It was dripping wet, as if it had been sitting in a bowl of melting ice cubes, and was perhaps not as chilled as during the first insertion, but the contrast to the heat was excruciating.

Mike let loose with a full-throated roar as Harvey manipulated it inside of him, altering the speed and angle.   He could feel his orgasm building. “Please,” he begged, “I’m gonna come, Harvey. I’m gonna….”

Harvey set the dildo deep inside Mike and left it there. He yanked off one of the nipple clamps, and immediately held a piece of ice to Mike’s chest.

“Noooo,” wailed Mike. “I can’t.”

“Hush. You can, and you will.”

How could Harvey sound so calm? He yanked off the second clamp, and drizzled wax onto that nipple. Mike screamed and cried and struggled against the restraints, frantic and desperate for release.

Harvey pulled the dildo out of him, and Mike gasped at the sudden empty feeling. He tensed, expecting a new assault on his senses. He wasn’t disappointed. Something different filled him, thick and unyielding, neither hot nor cold. Mike gave a long sigh of pure relief, and he allowed himself to relax a little. He should have known better.

Harvey set one hand on Mike’s hip. “You made some mistakes tonight -- "

Mike made an inarticulate noise of protest. Did this mean he wouldn't get to come? He thought back frantically on what he might have done wrong, and then groaned when he remembered. He'd spoken after Harvey had ordered him not to. He could have wept with disappointment.

"Ssh." Harvey's hand circled lightly, soothing Mike. "Tonight isn't about punishment, so I'm going to give you another chance.” With those words, the large dildo filling Mike up began to vibrate against his prostate. “If you can keep perfectly still, and refrain from speaking for ten minutes, I'll reward you. If you can’t, or if you come without permission, I can promise that you’ll be uncomfortable for a good long while after tonight.”

He sounded so amused that Mike wanted to yell out his frustration, or weep from it. Seconds ticked past, and a keening wail kept trying to force itself out of his throat. He sealed his lips together and breathed carefully through his nose. He rode right on the edge, terrified of tipping over and disappointing Harvey. _Just five more seconds,_ he pleaded with himself. He counted it out in his head, and pleaded for another five, and then another and another.

Agonizing minutes ticked past. He couldn’t hear Harvey moving anymore. The only sounds in the room were the thin buzz of the vibrator, and his own ragged breathing. Tears slid down his cheeks. He jumped when Harvey’s hand touched his knee.

“Look at you,” murmured Harvey, “how hard you’re trying.” He sounded solemn now, not amused. “So beautiful. So good for me.” He dropped a kiss on Mike’s knee. “All right, you can come now. Or….”

A hiccupping sob escaped Mike, despite his best efforts.

“Or you can wait until I help you off that table and lay you down on the bed, and I’m buried inside you.” He paused. “It’s your choice, baby. There is no right or wrong answer. You may speak.”

Mike sniffed and shuddered, determined to rein in his need just a little longer. “You,” he whispered shakily. “Inside me. Please.” The vibrator stopped abruptly. Mike bit down savagely on the inside of his cheek, dug his fingernails into his palms.

“Let’s get you free, then.”

 

Mike shivered at the touch of Harvey's chilled fingers at the base of his cock. Harvey dunked them once more in the bowl of melting ice and wrapped his fist around Mike, moving in slow careful strokes, cooling him down and drawing him back from the precipice. Mike's blindfold was gone. Harvey sat next to his hip, and now he leaned in, placed a hungry kiss on Mike’s collarbone, using more than a hint of teeth, and licked a stripe to his ear, where he bit down sharply on the lobe.

Mike sighed with pleasure and grabbed for Harvey’s shoulders, but Harvey lifted Mike's hands away and pressed them to the bed above his head. “Leave them right there.” He gazed down at Mike, thumbs stroking his inner wrists. "Your pulse is racing," he whispered. "You ready for me?"

Mike swallowed and nodded, and a soft whimper made its way past his dry throat.

Harvey slid his hands down Mike’s arms, kissed and nipped his shoulder, his nipples, his chest and belly, moving down and down, hands touching him everywhere with a reverence that Mike was sure he only imagined. He arched up, offering Harvey his cock, desperate for contact. Harvey held him loosely in his still cool fist and kissed the leaking tip before licking and kissing his way down Mike’s thighs.

He rolled Mike onto his stomach, and made his slow, torturous way back up, spending long minutes tonguing Mike open and kneading his ass, digging his fingertips into the recently spanked flesh. The dried wax near his hole pulled at the sensitive area, providing tiny bites of almost-pain that made his nerves jump. Mike lay as passively as he could, groaning into the pillow and clutching the edge of the mattress to keep from rolling over and reaching for Harvey.

Although Mike was more than ready for him, it felt heavenly when Harvey’s fingers, wet and cool with lube, pushed into him, stretching him and slicking him up. “Do it,” Mike mumbled in a slurred voice, bending one knee to provide better access. He fully expected Harvey to take him like that, and he was all in favor of it, so he was surprised when Harvey rolled him onto his back again.

Harvey climbed on top of him, one knee on either side of Mike’s thighs, and handed Mike a condom. “Get me ready,” he ordered, voice low and gentle.

Mike’s hands shook as he tore the wrapper open. He took Harvey’s heavy cock in one hand, and had to clamp down on the urge to lean up and take it in his mouth as it bobbed there in front of him, thick and purple-red.

“Mike….” Harvey’s voice sounded strained, so Mike made himself stop staring, and rolled the condom down the hot length. He stroked his other hand down over it on the pretext of smoothing the latex into place. Then, determined to be good, he threw his arms back up over his head.

“Mike. Lube. Give me your hand.”

Mike obediently held one hand out, palm up, and Harvey squirted a generous amount of lube on his fingers. More lube wasn’t necessary, in Mike’s opinion, but he wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to hold Harvey in his hand and run his palm up and down, testing the heft and the heat, and feeling him pulse and twitch and harden further under his touch. He lost himself for long moments marveling at the _perfection_ that was Harvey’s cock.

“Enough," Harvey bit out.

“Hm?” Mike’s fingers drifted down to skim over Harvey’s balls.

“Grab the headboard with both of your hands.”

Mike wrapped his fingers around the smooth wood. His lubed hand slipped and he adjusted his grip. Harvey brought one of Mike’s legs up to rest on his hip, and put on arm under his other knee, bending it up almost to Mike’s ear. He lined himself up, maintaining eye contact with Mike, and pushed all the way in with one movement. Mike’s eyes drifted shut, but Harvey quietly urged him to keep them open, so he did, and felt pinned under the weight of Harvey’s dark gaze, which seemed to grow even darker when Harvey pulled nearly all the way out, and plunged back in.

Mike let out a slow breath, fingers twitching with the need to touch, to trace the angles of Harvey’s face, to comb through his hair, to press into his back and urge him to move faster. He held tight to the headboard, knuckles probably white, reminding himself that it was up to Harvey to set the pace, not Mike.

Harvey kissed his knee before letting go and allowing Mike's leg to drop back to the bed. "Lock your ankles around my back,” Harvey murmured, and Mike hurried to obey.

Harvey's back arched and rounded with the movement of his hips. He found the right angle, sped up, his strong movements making the bed bounce. Mike was back to full hardness, and knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Harvey,” he breathed on a sigh. “I need….”

Harvey growled and grabbed Mike’s ass, pumping in and out, beginning to lose control. “I know what you need. Wait for me. After I come…you.”

Growing frantic, Mike began thrusting up to meet him. They were both covered in sweat, and their bodies slid wetly together. “Harvey….”

“Not…yet….” Harvey rasped out. Maddeningly, he paused. Still connected to Mike, he sat back on his heels and regarded Mike through half-closed eyes which still managed to appear almost savage in their intensity. He thumbed Mike’s nipples, dug into them with his nails, leaned down and bit hard on Mike’s earlobe. Mike threw his head back and moaned.

Harvey hoisted Mike’s legs over his shoulders, bending him in half, and pounded into him, bouncing and shaking the bed while Mike held onto the headboard for dear life.

“Jack yourself,” Harvey panted. “Wait until…I say….”

Mike peeled one cramped hand from the headboard and wrapped it around his cock. He was so close.

“Come on, baby. Move your hand. Do it. Let me see you.”

So Mike let go of caution and jacked himself with quick, hard strokes. He grunted when Harvey nailed his prostate, and was only vaguely aware when Harvey tensed and froze, buried deep inside him. Teeth gnawed at his shoulder, and a vibration shot through him as Harvey groaned against his skin. His hips still worked in short, sharp jerks.

"Let go," Harvey rasped. "Come for me now." He cursed into Mike's shoulder, and Mike could feel his hot pulses through the condom.

This close up view of Harvey coming apart did it, sending Mike right over the edge with him. "Harvey," he cried out sharply, and came, arching his back and letting his legs fall heavily to the mattress. Harvey collapsed on top of him, and they panted and shuddered and came down together.

 

After Harvey caught his breath and pulled out, and cleaned them both up a little, he made Mike lie still while he used a special oil to remove the worst of the wax, massaging and peeling and scraping in gentle, careful movements. Then he helped Mike to the bathroom, where they showered together, Harvey practically holding Mike upright as he scrubbed away at him. They dried off and dressed in silence. Harvey drove them home while Mike half-dozed in the passenger seat.

Back in Harvey's condo, Mike stood in front of his own bedroom door, thinking that _this_ part of being Harvey's sub was becoming depressingly familiar. "Well...call me," he quipped, giving Harvey a weak grin and putting his hand on the door knob.

"Mike."

Mike stared straight ahead, memorizing the pattern of wood grain on the door.

"Would you like to....?"

Mike waited for Harvey to finish. When he'd let the question hang there between them for too long, Mike set his forehead against the door. "To....?"

"To join me."

Hope awakened in Mike's chest. "As in, join you in bed?"

"No, genius, join me for a game of table tennis. What do you think?"

Despite Harvey's broadly sarcastic tone, sudden joy lit Mike's insides. He lifted his head and turned to smile at Harvey. "Naked table tennis?"

He could see Harvey fighting his own smile. "Just get undressed and get in here."

Mike shed his clothes in record time. When he entered Harvey's dark bedroom, part of him still expected to be ordered to sleep on the floor, but Harvey lifted the covers, and after only the briefest hesitation, Mike crawled underneath. He left a couple of inches between then. Harvey was having none of that. He dragged Mike closer, tucked him against his side, and buried his hand in Mike's hair.

Mike let his breath out in a long sigh, relaxing against his Dom's warm body, feeling as if he'd been searching for this resting place his entire life. Almost immediately, he grew sleepy. Before he succumbed, he mumbled into Harvey's shoulder, "I'd be happy to blow you first thing in the morning."

Harvey didn't reply, and Mike would have thought he was already asleep, except his arm tightened almost imperceptibly, and his fingers dug more deeply into Mike's scalp.

He decided to interpret that as agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see by the calendar on the wall that I'm horribly late with my regularly scheduled update. Sorry about that. The story is in its later stages, which I think is why it's taking longer to write each chapter, because part of me is always fretting about how best to wrap things up. That's not to say the end is imminent, but it's swiftly approaching. (ARGH! THE END IS NIGH!! Hahaha.)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for all your comments, suggestions, complaints and encouragement so far. I eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

"Good morning, Mr. Ross. Nice...clothes. Have a seat." Jessica patted the couch cushion next to her.

Resisting the urge to tug at the impeccable Windsor knot that Harvey had tied for him an hour earlier, Mike sat on the edge of the couch and spent a few seconds agonizing over what to do with his hands. He finally decided on setting them on top of his knees. He understood that the remark about his clothes was meant to remind him how they had first met. He hoped she wasn't picturing him naked right now, but the amused gleam in her eyes made him nervous. More nervous.

"Ms. Pearson, I just really want to thank you -- "

She waved him off. "Don't thank me yet. I've told Harvey, and now I want to make it crystal clear to you as well, that this is a trial arrangement. If I hear one negative word about your performance here, you're gone. And if I receive even a hint of inappropriate behavior between you and Harvey during office hours, you're gone. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She continued to stare at him thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him. Mike had experienced a weird flutter of emotion as she laid down the law, a familiar urge to drop to his knees and demonstrate what a good boy he could be. His back and armpits grew damp, but he held her gaze.

"I know about your arrest, and the terms of your probation. You’re here, so I’m assuming you passed your drug test this morning?”

Mike nodded, hoping his mouth hadn’t fallen stupidly open.

“No,” said Jessica, “Harvey didn't tell me, but I do my homework. Normally, that sort of thing would disqualify you for employment at my firm, but I'm making an exception. I'm relying on Harvey's word that you're trustworthy." She smiled. "Are you trustworthy?"

Mike swallowed past the sudden terror her gentle smile inspired within him. "Yes. I am."

"And why should I believe you?"

How was he supposed to answer that? "Because...I just want a chance to prove myself. I...I haven't done much in my life that's admirable. I think...it feels like this is it. This is my chance to prove I'm something more than a chronic screw up. I get why you'd be leery of letting me anywhere near your law firm, but I have no doubt that I can do this. I probably know the law better than any associate here, better than some of the partners."

He regretted his moment of bluster when he saw her smile grow scornful. "I wouldn't be thinking so highly of myself, if I were you. My attorneys are top notch. Harvard educated, every single one of them. You haven't even passed the bar."

"Not officially, no."

"Officially is the only way that matters to me, or anyone else. Don’t get any stupid ideas about trying to practice law. You’re here to assist, nothing more."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"What, exactly, is your relationship with Harvey?"

He blanched. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your connection to him is the only reason you're getting this chance. It's also the reason for this interview. I don't normally concern myself with hiring decisions at your level."

_Jessica respects a show of strength, and even a little pushback._ That is the advice Harvey had given him on the drive to work. Mike sucked in a breath and said, "I can't see how it's any of your business. My relationship with Harvey, that is."

"Can't you?" Jessica's smile widened.

If Mike hadn't been briefed by Harvey, he might have been heartened by her seeming show of friendliness. As it was, he knew he had well and truly stepped in it.

Jessica stood and walked to her desk, leaning against the edge with her arms crossed. Mike couldn't help but admire her ivory wool dress and nude heels. He realized too late that she'd caught him staring, and blushed hotly. Mercifully, she chose not to comment on his blatant elevator eyes.

"Harvey Specter is more than my valued employee. I consider him a friend. More than that, though, he's an asset. An investment. I've invested time, and money, and other intangibles that you would not be likely to understand. I'm a hell of a lawyer, Mr. Ross, but Harvey....he's in a class by himself. I doubt he could best me in a fair fight, but I wouldn't hesitate to set him loose on any other attorney in this city. If the situation called for it, and I asked it of him, he'd rip out their throats for me." She blinked slowly. "Their figurative throats, of course."

Mike repressed a shiver at the image. He opened his mouth, but realized he had no ready response.

"So you'll forgive me, I hope," continued Jessica, "if I wish to protect my investment. I won't have some seedy little failed drug dealer making him lose focus." A few seconds passed in silence. "I'll ask you again, what is your relationship with him?"

Mike knew he couldn't exactly tell her the truth, but he had to say something that would satisfy her. "I guess we're...dating? Seeing where things go."

"Hm. You listed an address in Brooklyn as your residence."

"That's right."

Jessica stared at him without speaking. Did she know something?

Mike cleared his throat. "I spend a lot of time at his place. I mean, my place is kind of a dump, so...."

“I think I understand.”

_No, you really don’t._

“Well, Mr. Ross, you’ll get your chance to prove yourself here. Just keep in mind that Harvey doesn’t do commitment, and he doesn’t do long term. If I were you, I’d hang onto that dump in Brooklyn.”

He bit back the _fuck you_ that bubbled up, and said instead, jaw tight, “Your opinion is noted.”

She gave him a sharp look, and then glanced at the doorway and waved someone in. Mike turned to see a pretty young woman with long dark hair, wearing a black pencil skirt, tight white blouse, and stiletto heels that made his mouth water with jealousy.

"Rachel, this is Mike Ross. Mike, Rachel will be your direct supervisor, responsible for assigning projects. She's going to give you a brief tour, and deliver you to Human Resources for your orientation. Welcome to Pearson Hardman.”

Mike mumbled his thanks, and followed Rachel out and down the hallway. She began rattling off names and information about the firm. Mike listened with half an ear, but he was too busy obsessing about what Jessica said about Harvey, and how Mike shouldn't hold out hope for anything long term with him.

Rachel stopped abruptly, and Mike nearly collided with her. “Don’t you want to take notes?” she asked tartly.

“What?” Mike tried to discern whether or not she was serious, decided she was, and shook his head. “I’ll remember.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“What am I going to be assisting you with?”

She smile thinly. “Are you familiar with the term ‘grunt work’? Good, just consider yourself my personal slave, and we’ll get along fine.”

“Uh.”

They had arrived back at the elevators. Rachel pushed the down button.

“Human Resources is one floor down. Go fill out your forms and then come find me.” She spun on her heel and click-clacked across the lobby.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he whispered at her retreating back.

 

Mike was assigned a workstation directly across the hall from Rachel’s office, inside one of the numerous copy/file/work/fax rooms located on each floor. His desk was shoved in a corner, behind tall shelving holding file boxes, reams of copy paper, and miscellaneous supplies. No natural light reached him, and he felt like a rat in a hole.

Rachel had installed him here, and then delivered nine boxes which now surrounded him like a barricade. She instructed him to, “Look for anything that mentions Janet Seitz or _Borean Industries_.”

He frowned at the boxes. “And how do I do that? Which files should I focus on?”

Rachel smiled, reminding Mike too much of Jessica Pearson. “You do that by looking at every single piece of paper in these boxes. Any other questions?”

“Do I have I deadline? How many days will I be working on this?”

Now she laughed out loud. “So naïve.” She patted Mike on the top of his head. “So cute. You have until the end of the day. If that means the day doesn’t end at five, so be it. I’ll expect your results on my desk tomorrow morning by six.” Still grinning, she swept out of the room.

“They better be paying me for my overtime,” Mike grumbled, and opened the first box.

 

Harvey found him passed out face down in box number nine around six-thirty. He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, and popped up, eyes flying open. “What? Janet Borean of _Seitz Industries_. I mean Seitz Borean of _Janet Industries._ Oh, hi, Harvey.” He rubbed his face, lifted off the post-it note he discovered stuck to his cheek, and yawned hugely. “What time is it?”

Harvey told him. “Time to get you home. How was your first day?”

Mike considered the disarray of boxes, and the pile of relevant documents he’d found, numbering exactly twelve pages. “Scintillating,” he settled on.

Harvey chuckled. “Somehow, I think you’re overstating it. Grab your coat. I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

Mike found himself torn between this direct order from his Dom, and the deadline Rachel had given him. “I’m sort of supposed to finish this before I leave. Do you think we could stay another half hour? I could totally have this box done by then.”

“Tell you what: give me half the files and we’ll be out of here in twenty.”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re volunteering for grunt work? You do realize your hourly rate is about fifty times what mine is?”

Harvey pulled up a chair and sat across the desk from Mike. “More than that, surely. How much are we paying you?”

“You better be paying me time and half right now.”

“Bah. You hourly employees can be so petty. What are we looking for?”

Mike told him, and they both began flipping pages and scanning them for the pertinent names.

After five minutes, Harvey glanced up and scowled at Mike. “Are you even looking at those pages? Nobody reads that fast.”

Mike’s index finger continued to glide back and forth, down the page. “Don’t hate, old man. You wanted to help, so stop trying to distract me.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“The part about being old? Or the part about your sadly inferior reading skills?”

And maybe that was the wrong thing to say. The next thing Mike knew, Harvey was up, locking the door, and shoving papers to one side of the desk to create a bare spot.

“Huh?” was all Mike got out before Harvey yanked Mike’s chair back and grabbed his wrist to jerk him up and over the desk. Suddenly, he found himself in a vulnerable position, face down, with his ass in the air. “This is –” he got out, and then Harvey’s hands were underneath him unfastening his pants.

“Hold onto the edge of the desk,” ordered Harvey, “and don’t move.”

“Wait.”

But Harvey didn’t wait. He pulled Mike’s nice new pants and briefs down to his knees.

“Harvey, Jessica said we can’t do this here.”

“Who’s your Dom, me or Jessica?”

“You are. But —”

"And who is going to tell her? I’m not. Are you?"

"This is ridiculous. You're going to get me fired on my first day."

“Stop talking before you get yourself in more trouble, boy.”

Mike gave a frustrated groan, but held his position. “Harvey, what did I do? I was only joking –”

“You were disrespectful to your Dom.”

Mike watched Harvey search the shelves until he found what he was looking for. He lifted the wooden ruler and showed it to Mike, whose breathing sped up as he dick responded to the promise of getting spanked right on top of his own desk. He couldn’t decide if Harvey was truly upset with him, or only using Mike’s glib words as a pretext to do what they both wanted him to do.

Harvey placed a hand on Mike’s back. “Do you have something to tell me?”

“I’m….” He’d been about to say he was sorry, but some evil imp took control of his tongue. “I’m sorry you’re such an inferior reader.”

The ruler whacked his naked bottom and Mike gasped.

“Try again, boy. What do you say?”

“I say, you have a pretty decent swing for such an old guy.”

He could have sworn he heard a quickly stifled laugh come from behind him. “One day at your new job seems to have destroyed all the training I’ve given you. I’m going to beat you until you tell me you’re sorry.”

Mike settled in, grasping tightly to the edge of the desk. All thoughts of Jessica, and Rachel and Janet Fucking Seitz vanished in an instant. He let out a slow breath and moaned in contentment as the next blow came. Harvey didn’t hold back. The hits came fast and hard – which is what Mike feared he was going to do in about a minute.

“God, Harvey,” he groaned, hips jerking as he humped against the desk.

“Don’t you dare come,” Harvey panted. “Shit, Mike, you’re such a pain slut.” He switched hands, and switched sides.

Mike forced himself to be still, to relax into the desk. He allowed it to continue for another twenty strikes. What remained of his cognitive abilities reminded him that he still needed to finish with the ninth and final box of documents, so, “I’m sorry,” he slurred finally. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“I said, you’re not old. You’re young and magnificently virile.”

“What else?”

“What else is there? Okay, okay.” Mike struggled to remember his earlier words. “I still read faster than you.”

The ruler traveled lower, to his upper thigh, and came down in a series of extra painful strikes. Mike howled, and an instant later his own tie was stuffed in his mouth to muffle the sounds. “Mmph?” he said, meaning, _how am I supposed to apologize with this in my mouth?_

“Keep the noise down,” Harvey murmured in his ear, “or I’ll put it back in.” He pulled the soggy silk from Mike’s mouth. “Now, I’m going to keep spanking you while you apologize to me. When I feel you’ve done an adequate job, I’ll stop and we can finish up and go home.”

“Yes, Sir,” Mike whispered. He bit his lip and let the blows fall. He might never have apologized, preferring the exquisite feel of cool, hard wood smacking his vulnerable flesh, but he knew Harvey required it. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I was a brat. Thank you for the offer of help. Thank you for taking the effort to correct me. I’m sorry, Sir. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated the words over and over in an indistinct mumble.

Eventually, Harvey must have decided that it was sufficient, because he stopped and set the ruler on the desk next to Mike, who continued with his litany of “sorry…’m sorry…sorry.”

Harvey sat in Mike’s chair and rolled up right behind him, between his spread legs. He cupped a reddened ass cheek in each hand and stroked and squeezed before separating them and leaning in. When his tongue touched Mike’s hole, he jerked and gasped.

_Apology accepted,_ it would appear.

“Not kidding, Sir. If you do that, I’ll come.”

Ignoring him, Harvey worked his tongue deeper. Mike squirmed and clutched hard to the edge of the desk.

Finally, Harvey lifted his head. His thumbs continued to dig and rub at Mike's bottom. “You saying you don’t like it?”

“I do. I do like it. I love it. It’s just….”

“Just?”

“I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

“Unlikely.” The word was the barest murmur, a wisp of warm air against Mike's backside. With a brief, tongue-heavy kiss to each ass cheek, Harvey moved back and let Mike go. “You taste delicious, but I suppose it would be bad form to have you come all over your desk on your very first day. So here’s the deal. We finish up and get out of here in….” He looked at his watch. “In fifteen minutes. We go home and you fix me a nice dinner. After that, I’ll take you to Jake’s and finish what I started here, and you get to come, but just from my tongue. Deal?”

_He even had to ask?_ He doubted Harvey could make him come just from his tongue in his ass, but _sweet holy Jesus_ , he’d let Harvey try all he wanted. Mike struggled to find his voice. “Deal,” he rasped.

Harvey pulled Mike’s briefs up, seeming to take a little too much care tugging them into place and adjusting Mike inside them, and then did the same with Mike’s pants. When they were zipped up and fastened, he stood and helped Mike off the desk. He handed Mike the next file. As he took it, Mike paused, reluctant to move away from Harvey.

“And then,” Mike said, somewhat breathlessly, “you. What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do I get to make you come?”

“You get to do whatever I decide you get to do.”

Mike nodded. “Right. I knew that.” He sat down. “Fifteen minutes. I’ll race you.”

It should have felt like the perfect end to a damned good day, and it would have, if not for the echo of Jessica Pearson's warning that whispered through his thoughts. _Harvey doesn't do commitment, and he doesn't do long term._ Mike tried to tell himself it didn't matter, that he'd take what he could get and be grateful.

The problem was, he was kidding himself, and he knew it. When Harvey inevitably sent him packing, he would be gutted.

 

******

 

Mike felt like he was floating, flying, suspended in Jake’s sling, while Harvey sat between his spread legs, feasting on him. Harvey's hands held him in place, kneading buttocks still sore and throbbing from the ruler, and more recently from the leather strap he'd used on him when he'd been bound to the cross. Pain and pleasure spiraled deliciously through him, blending together into one blissful sensation that had Mike’s lower spine tingling, and his dick hard and leaking.

Harvey's tongue, was slowly, systematically driving him out of his mind. It wasn't simply the exquisite feel of the thick, wet muscle licking his crease, or stabbing into him, it was also the sounds Harvey was making that drove Mike to a frenzy, the grunts, and sighs and slurpy, hungry groans, as if Mike's ass was the best meal he'd had in years.

"P-please, Sir," Mike begged again. He'd lost count of how many times he'd pleaded with Harvey to let him come.   Harvey hadn’t even touched Mike’s cock, hadn’t so much as glanced at it. His tongue, and lips, and sometimes his fingers had focused only on Mike’s taint, and his hole, turning the act of rimming into a sublime art form. “Oh, god, Sir. Please. I’m so c-close.”

This time, Harvey relented. The tip of his tongue remained lodged in Mike's hole while he managed to speak around it, if somewhat garbled. "Do it. Come now." His tongue fucked in and out and his fingernails gouged crescents into Mike’s flesh.

Responding to both the command and the touch, Mike's neck arched back, and his whole body bowed as his spine seemed to liquefy in a white hot surge. Had he really doubted that Harvey could make good on his word? _I am an idiot,_ was his last coherent thought. He screamed out his release, and spurted up his belly and chest, all the way to his chin.

Halfway through his convulsions, Harvey switched out his tongue with three fingers, jamming them in and pumping almost brutally, not stopping until Mike had emptied everything he had and subsided into occasional full-body shudders. The fingers remained inside him for long seconds. Mike drifted, mind empty of everything except a sense of profound peace. He opened his eyes, and groaned at the sight of Harvey’s fingers disappearing inside his body. His dick gave a twitch, and then gave up in exhaustion.

Harvey gently stroked the walls of his channel, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of him. “You’re amazing,” he informed Mike. “I’ve never known anyone who could come like that, just from a rim job.”

Mike blinked lazily back at him. “So it _was_ a bluff,” he slurred out. “Knew it.”

“It’s not a bluff if I carried through on it.” He pulled his fingers free and sat back a little. “Let’s get you down from there.”

Mike lay passively while Harvey wiped him down with a hand towel, and began unfastening his bonds. “You gonna let me blow you?”

“Ask more nicely than that, or I’ll break out the spider gag again.”

Mike wouldn’t have minded that, but after ambushing Harvey in bed after their first night together, with a blow job they found mutually enjoyable, he craved the taste of Harvey’s cock, and desired to participate fully in his pleasure. “Please, Sir?” His feet slid to the ground and he fell against Harvey, letting him take most of his weight. With his head on his Dom’s shoulder, he whispered against his neck, “You know I’ll make it so good for you if you let me.”

Harvey didn’t respond right away, just held him loosely, as if waiting to see how far he would take it. Mike slid down through the circle of his arms, to his knees, and mouthed him through the bulky barrier of jeans and zipper. Frustrated, he rubbed the side of his face on Harvey’s crotch. “Please. Wanna taste you so bad.”

Still no response. No permission given.

Mike bent lower, licking the top of Harvey’s bare foot, the knob of his ankle, the back of his heel, working his way back to the front, where he sucked Harvey’s big toe into his mouth and circled it with his tongue, applying delicate suction. Above him, Harvey made an inarticulate noise, and Mike doubled his efforts, working his way slowly down the row of toes, tasting and sucking, wriggling his tongue into the space between each digit, moistening every millimeter. When he was done with the first foot, he moved to the other, repeating the process with the utmost attention to detail, until both feet, from pumiced heel to elegant, narrow toes, glistened with his saliva.

Harvey had still not spoken a word, either to encourage or dissuade, so Mike continued his worship, pressing kiss after kiss to the top and sides of Harvey’s feet. “Please,” he mumbled between kisses. “Please, Sir. Please, Master. Please. Please. Please.”

When Harvey finally spoke, he sounded wrecked. “Permission granted.” Then, more strongly, “Suck me, boy.”

Mike didn’t need to be told twice. He straightened up, sparing Harvey one damp, adoring glance before pouncing on him. Harvey’s pants were unfastened and unzipped in the blink an eye. Mike worked them down to the top of his thighs, finding no underwear to impede his progress. He lifted Harvey’s already hard cock in one shaking hand and lowered his mouth over the tip, swirling his tongue under the plum-shaped cap, and then into the slit to capture pearls of salty-sweet pre-come. He groaned as the flavor exploded over his taste buds, kept groaning as he pushed lower, bringing Harvey’s hot length into his throat.

He swallowed a few times, feeling the sharpness of victory as Harvey’s hands settled on his head, fingers digging beneath his hair, clutching his scalp. “No more teasing,” Harvey husked. He pressed down on Mike’s head, thrusting up at the same time. “Do it.”

So Mike swallowed him down as far as he could, felt him bump the back of his throat, and kept swallowing, suppressing his gag reflex. His tongue snaked and stroked, concentrating on the underside of Harvey’s cock. He let go of the base and pushed lower. His hands cupped Harvey’s balls, rubbing them with his thumbs.

“God,” gasped Harvey. “How are you even….” Words seemed to fail him. He moaned and cursed, and began thrusting with more force, battering the back of Mike’s throat.

Mike wrapped his hands around Harvey’s thighs, relaxed his throat, and just held on for the ride, letting Harvey dictate the pace and intensity. He fucked Mike’s throat for long minutes, using him with near violence, and Mike loved every agonizing second. His eyes watered, but he kept them wide open, focused up on Harvey’s face, which was distorted both by the angle and his exertions, but remained heart-breakingly beautiful. Hands tightened on Mike’s head, tugging painfully at his hair, and Harvey’s eyes squeezed shut, his mouth fell open, and his hips began to stutter spasmodically as he came into Mike’s mouth.

Mike swallowed and swallowed, he did his best, but some of Harvey’s come escaped and dribbled down his chin and to his chest. He could have held Harvey’s softening cock inside his mouth forever if allowed, but eventually Harvey pulled free. He dragged his fingers through the come on Mike’s face, held it to his mouth, and Mike carefully licked each finger clean.

Harvey cradled Mike’s face in his palms and gazed down at him with a look that Mike couldn’t interpret. It was gentle, yes, but perplexed, the look of a man trying to solve an impossible puzzle.

“Thank you, Master,” Mike whispered.

The echo of his words seemed to reverberate between them. Harvey’s soft expression grew softer. He petted Mike’s head. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Thank _you._ ”

Mike had nothing else to say. Nothing he _dared_ to say. So he rested his head against Harvey’s naked hip and closed his eyes, savoring this moment of closeness as long as it lasted.

Later, Mike nestled at Harvey’s side. Ever since that first night that Harvey had invited him into his bed, he’d been allowed to stay. He found that he slept better in Harvey’s bed, and woke up feeling relaxed and refreshed, and not as if he’d been fighting epic battles all night long. He could only assume that Harvey likewise found some benefit to having Mike’s warm body next to him, or he wouldn’t have hesitated to kick him out. He preferred Mike within touching distance, and never failed to wrap an arm around him, or keep a hand thrust into his hair, or between his legs.

The willingness to share his bed with Mike may have had something to do with Mike's early morning wake up blow jobs, which had also become a thing.

Tonight, Harvey had dropped off to sleep even more quickly than usual. Mike flattered himself that this was due to the stress relieved by Mike’s excellent evening blow job. For that matter he felt pretty stress-free himself. _Jesus…Harvey’s tongue…._

_That was going in his journal,_ Mike decided. Because… _wow._ Harvey’s tongue should be registered as a lethal weapon. He shivered, just thinking about it. Harvey’s arm tightened around his middle.

“You cold, baby?” Harvey mumbled against the back of his head.

“No,” he whispered back. “Sorry.”

“Go to sleep.”

An order was an order, so Mike did just that.

 

******

 

Rachel seemed satisfied with the thin stack of documents Mike set on her desk the next morning. She smiled and gave him two boxes of corporate documents to photocopy. When he finished that just before ten, she sent him out to get them both bagels and lattes.

They ate their bagels together in her office, after which she gave him a list of names, along with her Westlaw and Lexis logins, and told him to dig up whatever he could find in a trademark infringement case, sending him back to his hidey hole across the hall. Two hours later, he brought her his results. She glanced at the printed pages and grinned up at him.

"This is really good, Mike. Maybe I'll keep you around after all." She'd opened her mouth to say more, but didn't get the chance.

A balding man barged through the door. "Rachel," he snapped, "I need -- " He halted when he caught sight of Mike. "Who is this? Who are you?"

"This is Mike Ross, my assistant. Mike, this is Louis Litt, one of the junior partners."

"Partner. Why can't you just say partner? And why the hell do you get an assistant? Jessica won't even let me have my own associate."

"Because you're a junior partner," Rachel retorted, enunciating the words.

Louis waved his hands around himself, as if trying to clear his aura. "Nevertheless. I'm still your superior. We have a developing situation. Have you heard the news? Hardman's coming back."

A beat of silence.

"Wow."

"Yes. Wow. He's contacted me personally, and asked to be briefed on all of the firm's current cases. I want summaries on my desk by noon tomorrow."

Rachel's brow furrowed prettily. "Louis, do you know how long that will take? I'll be here all night."

He waggled his fingers in the direction of Mike. "Get your assistant Mark --"

"Mike," said Mike.

"Like I care. Get him to help. No more arguments." He swept out of the room.

Mike gave Rachel a hopeful look. Although she didn’t seemed pleased by the assignment, it sounded a good deal more interesting than anything Mike had done here so far. She was tapping her fingers on her desk, as if planning the best way to approach it.

“Okay,” she finally said, “I suppose first we should get a list from Accounting of all matters with current or recently billed time. Then I’ll show you how to work the document management system to access retainer agreements and engagement letters. That will give us a starting point. After that, we can cross-reference with copies of bills, correspondence, court filings….” She trailed off, eying Mike shrewdly. “Your eyes haven’t glazed over yet. Are you up to the challenge?”

“Sure,” he replied stoutly. “Just show me what to do.”

 

Mike knew he wasn’t working as quickly or efficiently as Rachel, but he felt reasonably confident that at least he wasn’t slowing her down. They’d worked out a system. He opened a new Word document for each case, copied in the scope and objectives of the case from the signing document, and added all the document ID numbers for whatever looked even remotely relevant. That way, Rachel could speedily locate what she needed and prepare the summary on the same document. It helped, from her perspective, that she was familiar with a good number of the cases, having done work on them already.

By five o’clock, they’d made a sizeable dent in the job. By seven, Mike had finished his part, and Rachel thanked him profusely and released him to go home. She also promised to take him out for a memorable lunch sometime in the next few days. He hoped “memorable” meant “delicious,” and not, “horrifyingly strange.”

Feeling pleased and proud of what he’d accomplished today, he left her to it and went in search of Harvey. He found him in his office, seated in one of the conference chairs, with Jessica and a red-haired woman facing him on the couch.

“Oops,” Mike said, starting to back up and into the hallway.

“Wait, Mike,” said Harvey. He appeared serious and deeply tired. “You should probably hear this too. Come on in.” He indicated the free chair. “Have a seat. You already know Jessica.”

Mike said nothing, but his rapidly retreating testicles acknowledged the managing partner’s presence.

“And this is Donna, my assistant. Donna, Mike. Mike, Donna.” He waved one hand between them.

Mike nodded at Donna, and froze. Her eyes had narrowed as she scrutinized him.

“So _this_ is what has you so preoccupied lately,” purred Donna.

_Huh?_ What had Harvey told her about him?

“Donna….” Harvey’s voice contained an edge of warning.

“What?” she retorted, all innocence. “He’s adorable. Oh my god, look at that blush. Who blushes anymore?” She shifted, folding her legs and tucking her stockinged feet underneath her bottom. She lifted a tumbler of what looked like scotch and took a sip. She gestured at Mike with the glass and leaned her head toward Jessica. “I’d do him.”

Jessica didn’t smile, but Mike caught the gleam of amusement in her eyes. She lifted an identical tumbler and tossed back what was left in it. “I wouldn’t,” she confessed to Donna. “I’d probably break him.”

Mike turned a beseeching look on Harvey. _What the actual fuck?_ He could only hope his expression conveyed the message adequately. He was not a fan of Jessica, and was rapidly becoming not a fan of Donna as well. It wasn’t their treatment of him so much as the picture of them sitting there in Harvey’s office casually tossing back expensive scotch right in front of a recovering alcoholic. He thought of the bottle in the cupboard at home, and searched for signs now of Harvey following their tumblers with a greedy eye, or licking his lips at a remembered taste, but he saw none of that. Harvey still looked angry and tired, but Mike suspected that had to do with whatever they’d been discussing when he’d walked in.

“Ladies,” Harvey chided, “let’s not get sidetracked here.” He gave Mike a smile likely meant to be reassuring, but which didn’t reach his eyes. “You may have heard,” he told Mike, “that Daniel Hardman is coming out of retirement and returning to the firm.”

“Yeah. Louis Litt told us. We – Rachel and I – have been working on a project for him all afternoon.”

Three pairs of eyes zeroed in on him. “What project?” asked Jessica.

“Summaries of all the firm’s current cases.” Judging by the faces around him, this was not welcome news. The silence stretched as the news was digested. “So,” ventured Mike, “who is Daniel Hardman, and why are you all sitting around looking as if Satan has risen from hell to walk the earth again?”

No one bothered to answer him, but he saw the pained looks that Harvey and Jessica gave one another.

“I’m guessing we don’t like him?” No response. “Guys? Hello?”

“Mike.” Harvey sounded annoyed. “It’s complicated. You can stay, but nothing we say goes outside this room, and you need to be quiet. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Mike, without thinking. When he saw the looks that Jessica and Donna were shooting Harvey, Mike wished he could take back that “Sir,” could strangle it and bury it somewhere no one would ever find it.

Harvey heaved an audible sigh. “Mike, go sit at my desk, please. While the three of us talk, I’d like you to go on the firm intranet and ready everything you can find about the history of Pearson Hardman. It won’t tell you everything you need to know, but it’s a starting place.”

Mike nodded mutely, biting his tongue to prevent another betraying ”Sir” from escaping his mouth, and moved to the desk. He suspected this new task was designed to get him out of the way and keep him occupied while the grownups talked. He tried not to be annoyed.

 

The firm history wasn't exactly a riveting read. Mike scanned through it, keeping half an ear on the discussion going on a few feet away. The official year of establishment was listed as 1891, although in its current incarnation, it possessed no remaining vestiges of the original partnership of Coates & Meecham. Partners came and went, and partnerships were established, dissolved, splintered and reformed in a continuing evolution throughout the twentieth century. Previous to its current configuration, it had been known as Gordon Schmidt Van Dyke. Although the official, sanitized version didn’t say so, Mike guessed that the changeover to Pearson Hardman had come about through a coup of some sort.

“We should have known,” Harvey was saying, “that Daniel was only biding his time until his wife died.”

“Maybe he’s changed,” Donna suggested.

Jessica gave a scoffing laugh. “Oh no. Trust me, I’ve seen that man in action. I know how his slimy little mind works. Gordon and Schmidt were relatively old, close to retirement already, and happy enough with the settlement we gave them. Charles Van Dyke was another story. I wanted to give him a graceful way out, but that wasn’t good enough for Daniel. He humiliated him. Eviscerated him professionally and personally. Shit, he broke the man and didn’t bat an eye. Charles disappeared after that, went completely off the radar. I think Daniel justified his embezzlement by telling himself he was only taking what was owed to Charles, and therefore no one would miss it.”

Harvey said something in reply, but Mike didn’t hear him. He brain had stuck on something Jessica had just said. He scrolled back up through the page and clicked on a link, and there he was: Charles Van Dyke, the same man he’d met in lockup. He was younger in the photograph, of course, but Mike recognized him.

“Well, fuck me,” he muttered, and only realized he’d spoken out loud when the voices halted abruptly. He looked up to find all three pairs of eyes on him.

“Something you’d like to share with the class?” asked Harvey.

Mike knew it didn’t mean anything, that it was simply a weird coincidence. Harvey was waiting for an answer, though, so Mike swiveled the screen around to face them. He pointed at Charles Van Dyke. “This guy,” he said. “I recognized the name. I met him recently. Weird, huh?”

The reaction his words elicited took him by surprise. All three of them stood and converged on the desk, leaning in to get a better look at the old photograph on the screen.

Jessica tapped Van Dyke’s face. “This man? You’ve met this man? And recently? Where? Where is he now?”

Mike gave Harvey an uncertain look, but he nodded his encouragement. “It’s important, swee – Mike.”

Mike flushed at Harvey’s near slip. Judging from their expressions, Jessica and Donna hadn’t missed it. He cleared his throat and refocused. “It was a week ago Monday, in the Tombs. He was in the first holding cell with me. A nice man. A little cuckoo. A little rough looking.” He thought for a second. “A lot cuckoo and rough looking, to be honest. I didn’t ask, but assumed he was homeless, and by the way he was shaking, either sick or –” He gave Harvey a quick glance. “Or a hardcore alcoholic.”

“Probably both,” Harvey mused. “As I recall, he did like his gin martinis. I was the ADA on one of his cases. He took me to lunch a couple of times and managed to drink even _me_ under the table.”

Nobody laughed. Jessica watched him calmly, and Donna had a pinched, disapproving look on her face.

“Well,” said Jessica finally, “it’s a starting place. Harvey, do you still have that NYPD contact?”

Harvey shot a glance at Mike and nodded. “I do. If I can’t get the information through regular channels, I’ll give Steve a call. Luckily, he currently owes me a favor.”

Jessica stood up and gave Mike a smile which for once seemed genuinely friendly. “Mr. Ross, you might not understand it yet, but you may have just given us the ammunition we need to nip this Daniel Hardman nonsense in the bud. Harvey, you have my permission to tell him everything.”

Harvey followed her out of the office, apparently having a few more things to discuss. Donna stood and stalked over to Mike.

“Pretty slick, Junior. Let’s not gloss over the important stuff, though. What were you doing in lockup?”

Mike opened his mouth, even though he wasn’t sure how much he should tell her. Just then, Harvey stuck his head back in the room. “Mike, you coming?”

“Gotta go,” he chirped, and hurried out of the room. He suspected there would be a more comprehensive grilling from Donna in his future, but he was happy enough to delay it. After all, he felt as if he’d scored a major victory with Jessica – and Harvey – even though he wasn’t clear yet on what, exactly, he’d done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (That came out originally as "thanks for dinner!" Hahaha...yep it's dinner time here on the left coast.)


	19. Chapter 19

"So, Hardman fucked the firm over, and Jessica let him retire and keep his name on the letterhead? That doesn't sound like the Jessica I met. Why not press charges? Throw his ass in jail?"

Mike and Harvey had just finished dinner, and sat across the kitchen counter from one another.

"The problem with that," said Harvey, setting down his fork, "is that the entire firm would get a black mark from the scandal. It wouldn't be only our reputation that took a hit, either. If you know the law the way you seem to, you must be aware of all the strict rules governing client trust accounts and retainer fees, and the commingling of funds. Admitting publicly to Daniel's thievery would open our books up to audits and hefty fines."

Mike stacked their two plates and cutlery and carried them to sink. "But surely the firm's got nothing to hide, right?"

"I've never seen an audit _not_ turn something up, no matter how clean the books are. I supported Jessica's decision back then, and I still believe it was the right one. It did, however, leave the door open a crack for him."

"And now he's flung the door wide and announced his triumphal return."

"Not so triumphal. If we can locate Van Dyke, Daniel's plans don't stand a chance."

Mike ran hot water over the dishes, squirted detergent on them, and watched as suds foamed up. "You're going to use Van Dyke as a bargaining chip?"

With a huff of laughter, Harvey swiveled on his stool to watch Mike work. "More like a bargaining sledgehammer. A bargaining chainsaw."

Mike grimaced. "Poor Hardman."

"Don't feel too sorry for him. He didn't hesitate to screw the firm over when he had the chance."

"From everything I've heard, it sounds like he did it for love."

Harvey laughed again, shaking his head. "Love? He was basically paying off his mistress so he could keep fucking her. That had nothing to do with love, and everything to do with getting his stick wet."

Mike shrugged, paying extra attention to scrubbing over and over the already clean plate in his hands. "How can you know that for sure? Love makes you do crazy shit." He didn't know why he was defending Hardman's actions. And he wasn't really, he reflected. Maybe he was just defending love.

"Which is why," said Harvey, standing and pacing restlessly into the living room, "love is best avoided at all costs."

The plate slipped from Mike's hand and he barely managed to juggle it so that it didn't shatter in the sink. His first instinct was to argue some more, to point out that a life without love sucked, was unsustainable, that love inhabited a prominent place on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, that..... He slowly rinsed and dried the dishes and put them away.

His arguments were bullshit. That didn't mean Harvey was right. He just didn't get it. Love wasn't something you could avoid. Sometimes it came out of nowhere, like a freight train, and if you were lucky it didn’t completely flatten you. If you were less lucky, it insinuated itself into your system like a virus, bypassing all of the love antibodies you thought you possessed but which were really only a fantasy constructed out of wishful thinking. And then, before you knew it, you were sick with it.

Sort of like Mike felt right now.

He kept his back turned to Harvey, taking extra time to straighten the stack of plates in the cupboard. The last thing he wanted to do was give away the stupid illness he'd contracted, especially not now, after Harvey had made his own feelings so starkly clear. When he finally turned and walked into the living room, and knelt by Harvey's chair, his face (he hoped) was a blank mask, giving nothing away. Harvey's face appeared likewise devoid of emotion.

 _Good,_ Mike told himself. One casualty here was enough. One stupid heart waiting to be shredded to pieces in five months was plenty. Mike was the one, after all, who thrived on pain, not Harvey. He'd take the pain when the time came, like the good little pain slut he was.

He would keep his dignity, however, what was left of it...if that was even still possible. He'd revealed so much in his journal, and Harvey had seen Mike at his worst and at his most vulnerable.

Mike didn't regret a second of it. He would gladly give Harvey everything else, every other bit of himself, but he'd hold on tight to the knowledge that he'd fallen hopelessly, ridiculously, inconveniently in love with his Dom.

 

******

 

_The Slut Years: part two._

_After the inaugural sex, I only wanted more. They finally kicked me out of that first bar, but I found plenty of others that weren't so particular. I made so many bad decisions, and only live to tell the tale because of some kind of dumb luck, which I probably didn't deserve. And you'd be surprised (or maybe you wouldn't) at how many of those guys were turned on by the idea of fucking what they suspected was jailbait. I didn't lack for partners._

_So, let's see...probably the craziest thing I did (before I met you) was go home with these two guys. They were an established couple, regulars at my favorite spot. They'd never talked to me, but no doubt had seen the parade of men I'd followed into the bathroom, or occasionally left with. I suppose they had figured me for the neighborhood slut (I kind of was), and thought I'd be the most likely choice to join them for a threesome._

_I won't bother making up some bullshit over how I hedged and hemmed and hawed and went through a soul-searching internal debate, because the truth is, I agreed so fast they assumed I'd done it before. Which may explain how...enthusiastic their treatment of me was. And Harvey, it won't surprise you to learn that over the course of the night, I came so hard, so many times, it took me days to properly rehydrate. That's right. A good time was had by all and no hearts were broken. Win-win. Or I should say, win-win-win._

_I couldn't walk right for nearly a week, but that was the least I deserved._

 

_******_

 

Charles Van Dyke, it turned out, was a familiar figure on the Lower East Side, which had been his panhandling territory for longer than some of the younger beat cops there could remember. He wasn’t known by his real name, but any mention of “Fancy Charlie” elicited fond chuckles, tales of the stunts he'd pulled over the years, and arguments about the number of drunk and disorderlies for which he'd been cited.

Mike heard all of this second hand from Harvey on the way in to work Friday morning. Along with Jessica, Harvey planned to go in search of Van Dyke that morning. When Ray stopped in front of the building, Jessica was waiting. Mike got out and Jessica took his place next to Harvey. She had yet to wholly warm up to him, but at least the look she gave him now was cordial enough.

Mike detoured to the coffee cart to grab breakfast. Technically, his contract called for him to prepare that meal at home, but he'd kept Harvey distracted longer than usual this morning (and had the bruised and aching throat to prove it). On a whim, he grabbed a coffee and bagel for Rachel too. Couldn't hurt to suck up to the boss a little.

Rachel wasn't in her office when he got there. He set his offering on her desk, turned to head across the hall to his spider hole and nearly collided with the paralegal.

"There you are," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him down the hallway, back the way from which he'd come. "There's a firm meeting in the library starting in about half a minute."

Funny, Harvey hadn't mentioned anything about that. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It's Hardman. He's back and he's about to give a speech."

They squeezed into the library, which was already filled with associates and billing clerks and assistants and a few partners. Mike spotted Donna on the other side of the room, a grim, disapproving expression on her face. Rachel immediately began whispering with one of the associates. Mike set his coffee and bagel on a shelf behind him, and dug out his phone to send a text to Harvey.

_The enemy is at the gate. Inside the gate, actually._

He waited. Hardman appeared and began emoting. No reply had yet appeared from Harvey, so Mike fired off a second text.

_Hardman is here, orating his brains out. He's brought fruit. The unwashed hordes are eating it up -- the speech and the fruit._

His phone blooped.

_Harvey: Record it if you can. Still searching for VD._

Mike choked down a laugh at the unfortunate initials. Striving to be discreet, he switched on the video on his phone and crossed his arms, hoping the angle was the correct one -- or close enough -- to capture Hardman in all his glory.

Mike studied him as he spoke. Based on the story he’d heard from Harvey, and the way Rachel spoke of him, Mike had expected the man in person to be somewhat more… _impressive_ than the bearded, rumpled man in the expensive suit and unkempt hair who was invoking the memory of his recently deceased wife in an effort to gain sympathy. His ploy was almost painfully obvious, and yet…he had a certain way about him, a self-deprecating humbleness that made you want to believe him, and sympathize with his struggles.

“I hope,” Hardman was saying, seeming on the verge of wrapping things up, “that you’ll take the time to get to know the man I am now, and to give me the opportunity to gain your trust. I look forward to working with all of you. Help yourself to the pastries, and fruit. The espresso station will be here for another couple of hours. Feel free to fuel up. My treat.”

He stopped talking. There was a pause, as if each person waited for someone else to be the first to react. Tentative applause began – initiated by Louis Litt, Mike noted – and built slowly into a reasonable facsimile of honest enthusiasm.

Mike dutifully patted his hands together a couple of times before heading for the food table. He had to wade through the aggressive, elbow-throwing barbarians from Finance, but finally managed to snag a plate of papaya and pineapple. He eyed the espresso station longingly, but Rachel was back at his side, inclining her head towards the door, so he grabbed his cooling coffee, balanced the bagel on his plate, and followed her out and back to their side of the floor.

“So,” he said, when she was seated behind her desk and he stood in her doorway, “what did you think of that little dog and pony show?”

She shrugged, a vaguely uneasy look on her pretty face. “It doesn’t matter what I think. He said all the correct things. Maybe that was the first shot in a civil war, and maybe it wasn't, but I’ll leave any actual fighting to Jessica and the rest of the partners.”

“What if you’re asked to take sides?”

“I’m just going to keep doing my job, and I expect you to do the same.” Her eyes narrowed. “But then, I suppose you already know what side you’re on.”

He blushed. What had she heard? “Hey, I just got here.”

“Right.” She drew out the word, sounding skeptical. “And you just happen to be banging our newest senior partner. I’d say you’re firmly Team Harvey.”

Mike gaped at her. “How did you – ?”

“I had drinks with Donna last night.”

“Ah.” _Great._ “Well, so what if I am? I have him – and Jessica – to thank for this job. I see nothing wrong with showing a little loyalty when it’s called for.”

“Yeah? And what if it comes down to a choice between obeying Hardman over Harvey, or losing your job?”

“It won’t.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

 _Because Hardman would be gone before Mike ever had to make that choice._ He couldn’t say that to Rachel, of course. Harvey and Jessica needed the element of surprise for their plan to work. “Harvey’s the one I obey,” he said, without stopping to consider his words.

Rachel’s look sharpened. “Do you now? Let’s hear some more about that.”

Mike knew he was blushing, and cursed his fair complexion. “Don’t read into it. All I meant was, you're right. I’m Team Harvey. Now, don’t you have some work for me this morning?”

“Am I allowed to give it to you without checking with Harvey first?”

He kept his gaze steady and waited her out. Finally, probably seeing that her teasing wasn’t going to get a further rise out of him, Rachel handed him a pile of documents. “Proof these. By the time you’re finished, the Bainbridge documents should be printed and ready for you. That ought to keep you out of trouble for the rest of the day.”

He turned to leave.

“Oh, and Mike?”

“Yes?” He gave her a wary look over his shoulder.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

Mike took a break at noon and swung by Harvey’s office, hoping he’d be free for lunch. He wasn’t there, but Donna spotted Mike before he could leave, and beckoned him closer. He went to stand in front of her desk, and she crooked her finger, signaling him to lean over the desk so he could hear her low murmur.

“What do you know,” she asked, “about all the hush-hush, clandestine business with Harvey and Jessica?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You are a terrible liar. He called me ten minutes ago from the Holiday Inn on Delancey Street. Said he and Jessica were there working some renovation project.”

“And?”

“And I know all his cases and clients, and that is bullshit. So tell me, what’s going on?”

“Maybe he and Jessica are having an affair?”

“Gross.” Her face tightened in a grimace. “That’s a bridge too far, even for Harvey. Can you imagine? Ugh. I just imagined. Her vagina would probably grow teeth and devour him whole. Plus, I’m sure you’d be all broken up if your boo was cheating on you.”

“My _boo_?” He practically spluttered the word.

“Sure. Or whatever it is you call him. 'Sugar daddy?' Just 'Daddy?' 'My Stallion?' Or maybe the more generic, 'Oh god, oh god, _ohhh god!'_ ”

“Jesus, Donna, keep your voice down, would you?” He glanced up and down the hallway to ensure she hadn’t been overheard. “It’s none of your business anyway. And I can’t tell you what’s going on with Harvey and Jessica. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. Harvey would spa –” He thought he’d caught himself in time. He should have realized that Harvey’s assistant would be at least as shrewd as her boss.

“What’s that, Junior? Harvey would…what? Spank your ass?” Her eyes glittered with humor and a touch of malice. “Oh, I get it now. Harvey’s not ‘Boo.’ He’s ‘Sir.’ Isn’t that so? Or maybe when he’s got you tied up in his dungeon, you call him ‘Master.’ Oh, don’t look so shocked. Harvey doesn’t have any secrets from me.”

Mike’s mouth had fallen open, and he snapped it shut. How could Harvey have told her about them? He felt as if his most closely guarded secret had been plastered up on a billboard for everyone to see. He wasn't ashamed of their arrangement, but to the rest of the world he knew it might seem weird or shameful. “It’s none of your business,” he repeated, forcing the words out past his tight jaw.

“So I figured it out. So what? It actually makes more sense to me now, this thing between you two. Harvey doesn't normally get involved with people like you. But if Harvey’s repaying a debt -- if you're a renovation project -- then I get it. I get you, but what's this new project he's working on? Has he found someone else more in need of his attentions?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She shrugged. “Don't I? I know Harvey. Look, Mike, you seem like a nice kid. I wish you the best, but if you were hoping that indulging Harvey's need for kink would somehow transition into him swearing his undying love, then you’ve set yourself up for a huge disappointment.” Her expression was pitying, which was worse by far than her earlier amusement.

"Maybe," he allowed, hating the hollow feeling that had opened up in his chest at that admission.

"Don't take it so hard, Junior. He's held onto you longer than anyone else I've ever seen him with."

If her words were intended to make Mike feel better, they fell far short of the mark. Not bothering to attempt a response, he pivoted abruptly and headed back to his cave, deciding to skip lunch. He'd lost his appetite.

 

******

 

"We talked Charles into spending the weekend under a doctor's care."

It was five-thirty, and Ray was driving them home. Earlier, Harvey had texted his intentions to visit _Payne_ tonight with Mike.

"In a hospital?" Mike asked, loosening his tie. He'd been replaying Donna's words in his head all afternoon, superimposed over Jessica's words from last Monday. If Harvey noticed his subdued demeanor, he didn't comment on it.

"He refused a hospital, even after we assured him we'd be picking up the tab. We left him at the Holiday Inn."

Mike had to tamp down the cynical laugh that threatened to bubble up. "What makes you think he'll still be there on Monday?"

"We provided him with a couple of babysitters. He might make it past Rachel, but Donna's another story."

Mike did laugh this time. "Oh my god. What did you have to promise them to get them to spend a whole weekend with a detoxing, chronic alcoholic...and at the Holiday Inn?"

"It's not so bad. We got him a suite. They have room service. Cable TV. An ice machine. Continental breakfast in the lobby."

Mike snickered again. "Your Amex is going to get a huge hit next week, isn't it?"

"If we can get him sober and talk him into suing Hardman, it will be worth every penny."

The car had been stopped for several minutes. All around them, horns honked. It was typical Friday evening rush hour traffic, but Mike felt trapped and more than a little edgy.

He sighed. "Aren't you just using Van Dyke, though? You get him to sue -- or threaten to sue -- Hardman backs off, re-retires, never darkens your door again, etcetera, etcetera. What about Charles, though? Does he get anything aside from DT's and a few days of sobriety?"

"He gets the settlement payment which was due him when the partnership dissolved. Plus interest. It's a sizable chunk of money."

The melancholy that had dogged Mike all afternoon, settled deeper, making him feel hopeless and bitter. "He'll probably pull a _Leaving Las Vegas_ and that's the last anyone will hear of him."

"Hey, we’re offering rehab as part of the deal. And before you go all self-righteous on me, please keep in mind that his fate is in his own hands. We can only offer him help. He's the one who decides whether or not to accept it."

Mike nodded, staring out the window. "Shit," he muttered. "This fucking traffic."

"Something else over which you have no power."

"Yeah, my life seems to be filled with that lately."

"Which means, what, exactly?"

Mike shook his head, and then shot a glance at Harvey. "Nothing. It's not important."

"Then maybe you'd better adjust your attitude."

And that only made Mike more glum. It would be nice, he sulked, if just once Harvey actually gave a shit about how he felt. Part of him knew he wasn't being fair to Harvey, or honest with himself, but he'd sunk into a depression that colored everything gray and grim. Tension seemed to hum inside the enclosed space. "Sorry," he finally mumbled, not meaning it.

If they hadn't had an audience in the front seat, in the person of Ray, Harvey probably would have acted immediately to ensure that Mike was, in fact, exceedingly sorry. Instead, he gave a soft grunt and showed a sudden interest in his phone. A car horn blared right behind them, making Mike jump, and spiking his heart rate.

" _Jesus fuck,"_ he whispered, rubbing one hand across this face. They weren't that far from Harvey's condo. "Maybe we should walk the rest of the way," he suggested, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Maybe," said Harvey, slowly returning his phone to his pocket, "you should take a few deep breaths and get your temper under control."

"My temper is fine. My temper is appropriate to the situation." Mike knew he was only arguing out of a childish impulse to be contrary, and he suspected he was goading Harvey on purpose. Self-knowledge didn't translate into self-correction, however, at least not right away. He could almost feel Harvey stiffen with annoyance beside him. "Maybe your attitude is the problem, not mine," Mike added for good measure.

Harvey laughed quietly, shaking his head. "I know what you're doing. Have some patience, and you'll get precisely what you need in a couple of hours."

Mike let his head thunk against the back of the seat. "I'm not sure I can wait that long." The car crept forward half a foot and stopped.

"We can put up the privacy screen and take care of it right now." Harvey's soft words were somewhere between a statement and a question.

Mike swallowed nervously, and met Ray's eyes in the rearview mirror. "You wouldn't. You're bluffing."

A quiet mechanical whirr informed Mike that Harvey wasn't bluffing. The dark barrier slid up between the front and back seats, giving them what Mike could only hope was total privacy.

"Take down your pants and get over my lap." Stated as blandly as, "Pass the salt."

"Make me," said Mike, choosing stubbornness over compliance, all the while knowing full well that he was only escalating the situation unnecessarily.

"I don't intend to engage in a wrestling match in the back of this car, in the middle of rush hour. So here is your choice: take down your pants and submit to punishment right fucking now, or the trip to _Payne_ is canceled, the cock cage goes back on, and I keep you gagged and restrained all weekend. No television or reading privileges. No driving lesson. Choose. You have five seconds."

Mike permitted himself an aggrieved sigh, and then began unfastening his pants. They rearranged themselves. Harvey moved to the middle of the seat, and Mike draped himself over his lap. He was tall enough that even with his knees slightly bent, his feet were braced against the door. His pants and briefs were caught around his knees. His dick, ever the traitor, plumped and pressed hotly into Harvey's thigh. He resisted the urge to rub against Harvey's dick, to see if he could get him just as worked up as Mike already was.

"I'm not sure," Harvey was saying, "that I completely understand your attitude right now. All things considered, I thought you had a good week. Rachel tells me you've been a great help to her. You earned points with Jessica over this Van Dyke business." He stroked Mike's bottom, dragging his thumb down the upper edge of his crease. "Have I not been giving you enough attention?" He waited, as if expecting an answer. When none came, he sighed. "Twenty now. More when we get home. I'm going to make sure that when we get to the club, everyone will see what a poorly behaved sub you've been."

His hand came down in a stinging blow. Mike held on, one hand on the door handle, and one on the edge of the seat, and remained steadfastly silent. He could feel how Harvey was exerting himself, could hear his low grunts as he administered each blow. Normally, Mike loved this, especially loved the feel of Harvey's hand. Tonight, being spanked by Harvey only filled him with grief. He was tired to his bones. A trickle of tears began, not from the spanking, but from the knowledge that this was the most he'd ever get from Harvey. It was not insignificant, but he knew now that he wanted so much more.

He didn't bother keeping count, trusting Harvey to do that. The staccato smacks filled the confined space. At some point, the car started inching forward again. Harvey finished, and placed a hand on Mike's back, keeping him where he was.

"As soon as we get home," Harvey murmured, "I want you to remove your clothes and take your position over the chair."

He didn't need to tell Mike which chair he meant. It was the one he'd bent over for his morning discipline, before Harvey changed it up and began taking him over his lap.

"Yes, Sir."

Harvey let him go. "Sit up and get dressed."

Mike barely had time to pull his pants up and fasten them before Harvey lowered the privacy barrier. Unwilling to face whatever was in Ray's expression now, Mike focused his gaze on the mess of traffic outside his window. _No one getting anywhere._ It seemed like an apt metaphor for his life.

It was a well-worn thought, as automatic as breathing. As he rolled it around in his mind, he realized it was no longer true. However improbable it had seemed a few weeks ago, this thing with Harvey was working. Mike never thought of using anymore. There existed a new strength and sureness inside him, replacing the creeping panic and the itch of want that used to be his constant companions. Not only that, he now had a job he was beginning to like, with a boss who was tough, and sweet, and funny, and had the best shoes he’d ever seen. He wasn't lawyer, or even a paralegal, but it felt like he could accomplish important things at Pearson Hardman, or at least contribute to the accomplishment of important things.

As this realization settled over him, he felt shame for the way he'd been behaving. It wasn't Harvey's fault that Mike's stupid feelings had spun out of control. Harvey was a good man. He was helping Mike become a better person.

As if mirroring his thoughts, traffic began flowing again, as mysteriously as it had ground to a halt earlier. The constriction in Mike's chest eased a little. "Thank you, Sir," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"I know."

 

******

 

Harvey was not gentle with Mike when they got home. He blistered his ass with the thin paddle that stung like a motherfucker. Mike wasn't allowed any clothes as he prepared their dinner, and he was relegated to eating on the floor again. Then Harvey sent him to the bathroom with instructions to clean himself thoroughly. The self-administered enema was a necessary evil that Mike endured, and was made less odious with the knowledge that Harvey intended to use him in a way which included penetration of some sort -- preferably by Harvey himself. Mike felt his mood begin to lift.

After he was clean and dry, he returned to his bedroom and discovered what he would be wearing tonight. As always, Harvey had laid out his clothes -- nice black jeans and a tight blue t-shirt. Accompanying these was an electric blue thong made of shiny satin. Mike picked it up gingerly.

"Wow," he breathed. "Stripperific." And then he smiled.

Harvey was an accomplished asshole, sadistic in his own way, but he knew what would get Mike's motor running. It was running now. It was racing around the track, setting new land speed records. He pulled on the puny bit of fabric, adjusted his dick inside the front pouch, and took a look at himself in the mirror. He shook his rump a few times, thrust his pelvis aggressively at the mirror, spun around to get a glimpse of himself from behind and froze. His freshly spanked and completely exposed ass practically glowed red against the blue of the thong (what there was of it.)

Red, white and blue. _Well, I'm a Yankee Fucking Doodle Dandy._ He touched his bottom, feeling the heat rising from it. Then he finished dressing, thinking almost regretfully that the marks would have faded somewhat by the time they got to _Payne._

 

He should have known that Harvey had considered all the angles. In the dressing room at the club, as Mike stripped off his jeans and t-shirt, Harvey sat on the bench, spinning a paddle in his hands. He'd carried it in with him, in the gym bag that sat at his feet. Mike wondered what else the bag held, but knew better than to ask. Harvey had demanded complete silence from him tonight, unless answering a direct question.

Mike had hoped he would get his third spanking of the night over Harvey's lap, but the room was provided with an abbreviated version of a spanking bench, and it was here that Harvey directed him.

"This," said Harvey, "is for me. I want you glowing so brightly when we walk in there that no one can miss my marks on you.”

He swung away for long minutes. Perhaps halfway through, Mike felt as if he was melting into the bench. He gripped the supports tightly and turned his head to the side, chasing a glimpse of his Dom in action. The big mirror on the wall gave him the view he desired, and he drank in the sight of Harvey working him over, his expression intense and focused. Between the visual and the spanking, Mike was already hard and riding the edge. He moaned and met Harvey’s gaze in the mirror.

“Ten more,” Harvey murmured.

Mike counted them out in his head. When Harvey was finished, Mike continued to lean over the bench, watching Harvey wipe down the paddle and tuck it back in the gym bag. What he pulled out next sent a wave of near-dizziness through Mike.

“Oh,” he exclaimed before he could stop himself.

Harvey held up a pair of three-inch midnight blue stilettos, showing them to Mike. “Your fascination with the footwear of the women at the firm has not gone unnoticed by me. What do you think? Can you walk at heel in these heels?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’ve worn something like these before, I take it?”

Mike blushed. He would rather not elaborate on that particular episode, so he just nodded.

“That’s what I thought. Before you try them on, come over here by the mirror.” He pulled several small items from the bag. As Mike approached, he held up a container of lip gloss and an eyeliner pencil. “I thought we’d try a touch of makeup. I hope you can manage, because I’m afraid I’m shit at applying this stuff.”

Mike was dying to quiz him on how he had come by _that_ knowledge, but he just nodded eagerly and snatched the makeup from Harvey’s hands. It took him perhaps all of a minute. First he dabbed a finger in the lip gloss and smeared it over his lips. It had a hint of dark pink in it, and gave his lips a delicious shine. The eyeliner was black, the way he liked it, and was an expensive brand that glided on smoothly, requiring only four careful swipes – upper, upper, lower, lower – to outline his eyes. He turned to face Harvey, one eyebrow raised to inquire, _Good?_

“You are suspiciously efficient at that,” said Harvey, mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

Mike shrugged. “Not my first time.”

“Obviously not. Another time, maybe I’ll have you try full drag.”

“Looking forward to it, Sir.” If Harvey was trying to faze him, this was not the way.

“No more talking. Put them on.” He handed the shoes to Mike.

Of course, they fit like a dream. At Harvey’s urging, he took a few circuits around the room, hyper-aware of Harvey’s gaze following him.

“All right. That’s good.” Harvey sat on the bench. “Come over here and stand in front of me.”

Mike stood still while Harvey pinched his nipples and screwed on a pair of nipple clamps which Mike hadn’t seen before. They were shaped like fleur-de-lis, and were blue, to match his ensemble. He tried not to think too hard about Harvey shopping for all of the items he was now wearing.

When the clamps were in place, Harvey attached a chain and leash, collected their things to leave at the front desk, picked up the leash and led Mike from the room. He loved the way the heels made him feel, sultry and slinky with a hint of dirty. Adding three inches to his height left him looking down on nearly everyone in the club.

The main room was already crowded. More than a few heads turned when Mike and Harvey made their entrance. Mike's self-consciousness only served to excite him more. He felt like someone new, not entirely himself. He wished he could model-strut across the room, but he had to match his stride to Harvey’s. Still, he savored the reactions he was getting, even as wave after wave of hot embarrassment flowed through him. He kept his gaze focused on Harvey’ back, and concentrated on not turning an ankle, or getting his feet tangled up.

Harvey found a seat at the bar, and made Mike kneel with his head on Harvey’s thigh and his ass to the room. A steady stream of people stopped to talk to Harvey, many of them commenting on Mike and his lovely red ass. All of the attention was doing strange things to his head and stoking his arousal. He held onto Harvey’s leg as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground, and prayed that the night would end with Harvey allowing him to come.

“Ohmygod. Harvey!”

Mike heard the breathless, excited voice, and had only a second to wonder who it was before Harvey surged to his feet, practically dumping Mike on the floor. He regained his balance, kneeling up obediently, and gaped at the scene in front of him. A young man in tight black boxer briefs was hugging Harvey – who was hugging him back. _What the hell?_

"Ronnie. It's been...what? A couple of years at least," said Harvey as he stepped back, keeping his hands on the man's shoulders and letting his gaze travel up and down his slender form. "You look great. Every bit as pretty as I remember."

Who was this person? His (un)dress and demeanor screamed _sub._ How did he know Harvey? Mike knelt, struggling for patience, as yet unacknowledged by Harvey, while the two of them swapped compliments, and Ronnie explained that he worked for _Payne_ as a paid sub. Mike hadn't even known that was a thing. His excited good mood dissolved when he observed the hot interest in Harvey's eyes, and his shoulders slumped as his earlier depression came crashing back.

Harvey must have noticed the change in his posture. Without letting go of Ronnie, he settled a hand on the back of Mike's neck and finally included him in the conversation. "Ronnie, I'd like you to meet my sub, Mike."

The pretty little man turned an interested eye downwards, giving him a thorough once-over. "I saw you come in," he murmured. "Love your shoes."

 _Crap._ Did Ronnie have to be sweet, as well as stupidly good-looking? "Thank you," replied Mike, striving to be gracious. "Harvey gave them to me." 

The look Ronnie gave Harvey could only be described as "adoring," and made Mike want to launch himself at him.

"You're so lucky," Ronnie gushed to Mike.

Harvey couldn't seem to remove his hand from Ronnie, running it up and down his arm. "Are you with anyone? Permanently?"

Ronnie's expression grew sad. "No. After Jake kicked me to the curb, I couldn't find anyone else that made me feel like you two. Or made me come so hard."

If Mike had been a cartoon character, his eyes would have popped out of his head, or perhaps exploded in bright, primary colors. _The three of them?_ But Harvey had implied that his arrangement with Jake hadn't included sex. So that meant.... He began to feel ill.

"I would have been happy to take you on," Harvey was saying. "I wish you would have come to me. I'm easy enough to find."

Ronnie shrugged. "I couldn't. I was gutted when Jake cut me loose. I didn't want any reminders. In fact, until recently, I stayed away from everyone I knew from the scene, concentrated on my art."

"But you're back. You're here." Why did Harvey have to sound so pleased about it? Mike was here too, but Harvey had let go of him, turning away to face Ronnie, while Mike knelt behind him, his resentment and worry building unnoticed.

"Les has been so kind to me."

"Are you and he...?"

"What? No. Not that I wouldn't mind, but I think he's still too hung up on Joshua." He spoke the name in a near whisper, while taking a nervous glance around them, as if worried that Payne might be somewhere nearby, listening to them. "He's helping me build my confidence, picking partners who are a good fit."

"Are you allowed to choose for yourself?"

"Not yet. He has veto power." A pause. "Why? What are you thinking?"

Harvey glanced back at Mike. "I'm thinking that we'd love it if you joined us tonight. I have a room reserved upstairs."

"Private?"

Harvey nodded.

Mike's resentment toward Ronnie deepened at this new information. Harvey obviously had planned something for Mike -- something which was no doubt amazing -- and now here was this perfect little creature in his perfectly sober black underpants, who made Mike feel gangly and cheap and gaudy by comparison, and who was on the verge of utterly destroying Mike's night. And who exactly was this _we_ Harvey referred to? Mike most certainly would not love it if Ronnie joined them. Where was Harvey getting that from? He shifted restlessly, rolling a protest around on his tongue, but reluctant to misbehave in front of the other sub.

"You'd have to run it by Les first," said Ronnie, "but I'd love it too." He looked at Mike, and bit his lip. "You better ask Mike what he thinks."

"I already know what Mike thinks. Besides, he doesn't get a vote."

And that stung. This little.... _twink_ got to choose, but Mike wasn't allowed an opinion? It felt as if a huge hole had opened up in the center of his chest, sending piercing pain radiating through his body. His eyes grew wet with unshed tears, and it became a struggle to breathe. He fought to get his emotions under control before Harvey noticed his distress.

But Harvey wasn't paying attention. He was already flagging Lester Payne down.

The handsome, silver-haired man appeared at their side, sharing a smile among the three of them. "Nice to see you again, Harvey. Mike, that's a breathtaking look on you. I see you've met Ronnie." His gaze moved back to Mike and his brow furrowed slightly.

"Ronnie and I are already acquainted," Harvey said.

Mike could almost see Payne making the connections. "Ah. That's right. I should have remembered. You both subbed for Jake around the same time."

"We overlapped," Harvey clarified. "When I left, Ronnie took my place."

"I see. So what can I do for you tonight?"

"Ronnie says he needs your permission to scene. I'd like him to join Mike and myself upstairs tonight."

Payne’s eyebrows rose in two perfect silver arches. "Ronnie? Are you comfortable with this?"

"Yes, sir. We...I mean, there were a few times with Harvey and Jake....I'm comfortable with it, yes."

"Hm." Payne gave Mike a searching look. "What about you, Mike? Are you okay with this?"

"Les," interjected Harvey, "with all due respect, I'll speak for my sub. I happen to know he's more than okay with this."

And there it was again. Why did Harvey assume Mike would be happy about this turn of events?

Payne turned his pale gaze on Harvey. His gentle smile had disappeared. It was subtle, something in his suddenly tense posture and the angle of his head, but Mike suspected he was angry. "My club. My rules. Is there something about that which you fail to understand?"

His voice was like a whiplash. Mike could almost hear the implied, "boy," at the end of the question.

Harvey didn't answer, but his mouth pressed together in a way that Mike knew by now signaled his own building anger.

"In case you've failed to notice," Payne continued, "your sub does not look happy. That's right, take a close look at him."

All three of them were now scrutinizing Mike. He blushed, and blinked rapidly to clear the moisture from his eyes. He dropped his gaze and kept it steadfastly on the floor in front of him. He wanted to deny it, to assure Harvey that he was fine, that the idea of sharing Harvey with another sub didn't make him want to howl with grief, but he wouldn't lie to him.

"Mike?" Harvey sounded genuinely confused. "What's going on?"

He couldn't say it out loud, because what was going on was that he was sick with jealousy, both over the past Harvey had apparently shared with this boy, and the way Harvey looked at Ronnie now, how his face had lit up when he first recognized him tonight.   Instead, he implored him with his eyes, trying to communicate everything he felt.

He could almost see the understanding dawn on Harvey's face, followed by a careful blankness. "You have my permission to speak."

"I wanted....I thought...." The words got stuck. He didn’t want to do this in front of an audience. He cleared his throat, and then sniffed a few times.   "I want whatever you want, Sir," he whispered.

Harvey and Payne exchanged a long look. "It's been a long day," Harvey finally said. "Mike's tired. I should take him home."

That's what Mike preferred, right? Why, then, was he filled with such a sense of failure? He returned his gaze to the floor, and kept it there while Harvey said his goodbyes to Ronnie. He gave the leash a less than gentle tug and led Mike out of the room. Added to his agitation was the embarrassment that a trip to _Payne_ had once more ended badly.

Harvey didn't accompany him into the dressing room. Moving like a sleepwalker, Mike went inside alone, savagely yanked off the nipple clamps, and pulled on his clothes. He lobbed both shoes and both clamps into the garbage, used a tissue to wipe off his lip gloss and eyeliner, and then stood with his arms crossed, staring at the closed door.

_I'm behaving like a fool. A ridiculous, love sick idiot._

Admitting it did nothing to improve the situation, or salvage the evening. He couldn't hide in there forever, so finally he exited, and went to face Harvey.

 

Harvey didn’t say a word on the drive home, although Mike could see the quick little glances he threw his way. The need to justify himself burned inside Mike, but that would lead to confessions and declarations he was not prepared to share.

Back home, Mike went straight to his bedroom, but paused before entering. Harvey brushed past him, and likewise paused in front of his own door.

“Mike?” he asked, voice soft and uncharacteristically uncertain.

Mike understood that Harvey still wanted him in his bed. He wanted that, too, but he felt rooted in place.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” said Harvey. “I can see that you’re exhausted, and I’m about to drop myself. Let’s go to bed.”

Still Mike hesitated.

“Mike, get in here.”

That impatience, with the beginnings of anger, sent a new jolt of grief through Mike, getting past the numbness that gripped him. He wanted to go to Harvey. The compulsion to wrap himself around him and never let him go made him tremble with sheer _need._ He couldn’t forget the betrayal he’d felt at Harvey’s actions tonight, and the pain that memory brought with it overwhelmed the need. He didn’t look at Harvey, and had to grip the doorknob tightly to keep from sliding to the floor.

“Red,” he whispered. When Harvey didn’t react, Mike gathered his resolve. “Red,” he stated clearly, and then turned the knob and entered his room.

With the door closed, he turned and pressed himself to it, straining for any word or sound from Harvey which might change his mind, make him beg to take back the word, but after nearly a full minute, he heard Harvey’s door open, and then softly close.

”Shit,” he muttered. Somehow, he made it to the bed, and collapsed to his knees in front of it, burying his face in the comforter. His fingers clawed at the satiny material.

 _Red._ He’d said it. What had he done? He didn’t know, wouldn’t know until he faced Harvey in the morning. Right now, it felt as if the word was a knife he’d stabbed into his own heart, and any second blood would gush everywhere and fill his lungs and throat until he choked on it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once more for your responses to the last chapter. 
> 
> There's a little cameo in this chapter by Hank Lawson of Royal Pains. (I hope it's not too jarring.) Being a "concierge doctor," he seemed the perfect choice to come take care of the patient.

The night stretched on endlessly, or so it seemed to Mike, who lay awake, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, playing the night’s events over and over in his mind. He prodded and poked and searched for something he could have done or said differently to achieve a different outcome. It was a hopeless task, and he finally concluded that the only good thing to come out of the night was that at least now he knew.

He knew that Harvey’s heart was not involved in their arrangement. He wouldn’t call it a “relationship,” because anything that had developed beyond the terms of the contract they’d both signed had been on Mike's part alone, and was the result of the foolish illusion he had constructed.

He also knew, with sick certainty, that he could not do this anymore. He’d deluded himself into believing that he’d be okay taking only whatever Harvey could give him, that he could successfully hide his true feelings, and that he could postpone his inevitable anguish until the time that the contract expired.

What scared him the most, he decided during that dark night of the soul, was the thought that if it hurt this much now, after only a month, that he might not survive their separation five months from now. Better to end it immediately, while he still had a chance – while there would still be some pieces left to pick up and glue back together.

Before the sun came up, he heaved himself off the bed, dragged his duffel bag out of the closet, and packed his clothes – but only the ones he’d brought with him. With regret, he left all the beautiful things Harvey had bought him hanging where they were, or folded neatly in their drawers. Maybe his next sub would be able to wear them.

He still wore the clothes from the night before, so he stripped out of them, which was when he realized he was still wearing the shiny blue thong. He grimaced, and tried to laugh, but it came out as a hoarse croak. He yanked off the thong and stuffed it in the hamper with the jeans and t-shirt, and then dressed himself in his old clothes.

It was tempting to simply grab his stuff and run, or to leave a vague note for Harvey – and then run. That had been the plan between two and three in the morning. By four, he had grown determined to face Harvey. He would demonstrate that he had gained some strength and maturity over the past few weeks, and he would give Harvey the truth. It was the least he owed him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching the sky lighten outside, listening for sounds of Harvey waking up, a creaking floorboard, or a door opening and closing. The waiting finally got to be too much for his taut nerves, so he decided to get up and start a pot of coffee.

When he stepped into the living room, he halted in surprise. Harvey was up already, sitting in his usual chair, holding Mike’s journal in one hand. He looked every bit as tired as Mike felt. Even his hair was rumpled and tired looking. At Mike’s approach, he looked up and met his gaze. His face gave nothing away. Mike could only wish he could say the same for himself, but fate or genetics or lack of practice had gifted him with a face like an open book.

He tried to smile, but knew it was more of a grimace. “Coffee?” he asked, when what he really wanted to know was, _what are you doing up so early? What happens now? Why can’t you just love me the way I love you?_

“Sure, that would be nice.” Harvey’s voice remained carefully neutral. He didn’t comment on Mike’s clothes, or the fact that he was wearing them, or point out that discipline was still due, or ask, _why?_

So Mike walked past him as if it was just another morning, no big deal, and peeled a new filter off the stack, measured out the coffee, poured in the water, and turned on the machine. The coffee began to brew, dripping down, dripping more slowly, it seemed, than coffee had ever dripped in the history of coffee. He selected two mugs and set them on the counter. _Drip. Drip. Drip._ He cut his gaze over to Harvey, who had opened the journal. Mike couldn’t tell if he was reading it, or simply staring down, gaze unfocused, just as off-balance as Mike felt.

Finally, the coffee was done, and poured, and Mike had no more stall tactics to delay the dreaded Talk. He carried the two mugs out to the living room.

“Thank you,” said Harvey, and set his mug on the table.

Mike looked at the couch, and looked at the floor, and his heart fractured a little as he sat deliberately on the couch, mug in hand. He strove for casualness, for nonchalance, but his hand was shaking, coffee threatening to spill onto Harvey’s couch. Moving with great care, he leaned forward and set the mug on the table next to Harvey’s.

They said each other’s name at the same time and stopped.

“Sorry,” said Mike. “You can go first.”

Harvey regarded him seriously, and Mike thought he was going to refuse, and would throw the hot potato right back into Mike’s lap. Finally, though, he nodded once and closed the journal, although Mike couldn’t help but notice that his index finger still marked the page he’d been reading.

“You safeworded,” said Harvey. It was a statement, a question, and quite possibly an accusation.

Mike’s stomach started jumping nervously. He grabbed for his mug, took a quick, scalding sip, and set it back down with a sharp click. “I did.” He bit down on the _sorry_ that felt like second nature. He _was_ sorry, but didn’t wish to muddy up what would already be a difficult conversation. “I didn’t feel comfortable with what you were proposing last night.” _With what he was demanding._

Harvey breathed audibly in and out several times, making Mike wonder if he was searching for calm. “But you didn’t,” said Harvey, “safeword at the club. You waited until we got home.”

“No.” His voice sounded too small, so he tried again. “I mean, yes, I waited.”

“You had the chance at _Payne._ ”

“I did. But you took me by surprise. And then I didn’t want to misbehave in front of Mr. Payne. Or Ronnie.” Speaking the other sub’s name out loud felt like swallowing ground glass.

Harvey nodded slowly. “So given more time, and a bit of privacy, you would have safeworded out of a threesome with Ronnie, something which we both know you would have enjoyed.”

Mike gave his head a tiny shake. “You keep saying that. You keep assuming that. Where in the hell are you – ”

Harvey had opened the journal, and now he interrupted Mike, reading out loud from the recent passage: “ _The truth is, I agreed so fast they assumed I'd done it before. Which may explain how...enthusiastic their treatment of me was. And Harvey, it won't surprise you to learn that over the course of the night, I came so hard, so many times, it took me days to properly rehydrate. That's right. A good time was had by all and no hearts were broken. Win-win. Or I should say, win-win-win.”_

He looked up from the book. “You wrote this, correct?”

“You know I did.”

“Is it the truth?”

Mike gave an annoyed huff. “Are you going have me declared a hostile witness?”

Harvey rolled his eyes, and that was so… _Harvey_ …that Mike’s stomach cramped up. After today, would he ever see that irritating eye roll again?

“Mike, I just want the truth here. What did I do wrong?”

_You let your feelings for Ronnie show too clearly._ “You should have asked, instead of just assuming I’d go along with it.”

“It’s my job to read you, and to _know."_ He glanced away for a second, jaw clenching. "Okay, granted, maybe I should have seen what Les saw.”

“But your eyes were too blinded by the dazzling glory that is Ronnie?”

“No. _Jesus_ , Mike. I was trying to reward you for a successful week at your new job. That's all.”

"That's not what it felt like."

Harvey ran a hand through his hair, and seemed to be struggling for control. “Okay. We can agree that I miscalculated at the club. But, Mike, why, for god’s sake, did you safeword when we got home? We could have had this conversation last night, and maybe we both would have managed a decent night’s sleep.” Something flashed in his dark eyes, and they narrowed. "Is this whole thing about jealousy?" Incredulous, and skirting the cusp of outright anger.

"Yes. No. I just...." He couldn't seem to form the words, was finding Harvey's rising emotion too distracting, and so decided to show Harvey instead. He reached over and tugged his journal from Harvey’s grasp. It fell open to the page from which Harvey had just read. “Right here,” he said, voice shaking as he pointed. “Read this part again.”

Harvey studied his face and then leaned forward. Mike turned the book around, finger still firmly in place. “ _A good time was had by all and no hearts were broken,_ ” read Harvey.

Before Harvey could continue, Mike closed the book with a loud snap and hugged it to his chest, grasping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. Harvey had a look of confusion on his face. Mike wished it would stay there forever, but Harvey Specter was a smart man, and all too soon comprehension flooded across his beautifully austere face.

“Mike?” he queried, voice tentative. “What are you telling me? What does this mean?”

_Game over,_ Mike’s mind intoned. Bracing for the end of everything, he tossed the journal onto the coffee table and said, “It means that the way you looked at Ronnie was too painful to watch, a hundred times worse than Jake’s cane. It means the entire time you were pawing him, and ignoring me, I wanted to push him through a plate glass window. It means there was no way in hell I could have a threesome with you and someone you so obviously adore, because my stupid fucking heart would have cracked in two and fallen to the floor in a huge, gruesome puddle."

Mike gave an ugly bark of laughter. "If Mr. Payne hadn’t stopped it, I would have said the word. Because I did a really stupid thing. Somewhere in between the spankings and all the rest of it, I fell in love with you.” Several beats of silence. “That's what it means. There it is, the whole, awful, humiliating truth.”

Harvey exhaled harshly, as if he’d been holding his breath. “But, why –” He surged to his feet and paced several steps away before stopping and shaking his head. " _Shit_." The word exploded off his tongue. He spun back to face Mike. Instead of the anger he'd expected, Mike saw panic in Harvey's eyes. "God _damn_ it, Mike. I thought we were on the same page here. This isn't a romance. You knew that. You _knew_ that. This is an...an...arrangement. A program to get you sober and strong and able to cope on your own. What were you thinking?"

Mike was stunned by Harvey's reaction, because...just _...what?_ His chest felt tight and clogged with equal parts grief and anger. "Thinking? What does thinking have to do with it? Are you seriously that...that...emotionally constipated? Have you really never gotten caught in this insane rush of feeling? I never wanted this. I never planned for it. I never fucking _thought_ it out, or diagrammed it, or plotted it on a graph. It's emotion. It's this ecstatic passion that swamps you, and blinds you and all you can do is drop to your knees and pray not to be immolated, or maybe beg for exactly that."

Mike clamped his lips together, cutting off the crazy spew of words. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, hands resting on his head, wishing he could take back most of what he'd just said. Across the room, Harvey moved restlessly, but Mike couldn't bring himself to look at him as he waited for a response -- _any_ response.

After what felt like much too long, he finally heard Harvey expel a lengthy sigh. “I suppose I should have seen this coming. Maybe I did, but chose to ignore it. Shit. So what now, Mike? What is it that you want from me?”

_Everything. Not a damn thing._ “I want…I _need_ to go home. Regroup. Figure out what the hell I’m going to do now.”

“Do you….” There was that tentative tone again, which sounded so wrong coming from Harvey. “Are you saying you want to void our contract?”

The suggestion sent a new stab of pain through Mike. Evidently, Harvey wasn't even going to put up a fight. “Yes. I guess that's what I'm saying. I’ll have to go it alone again." Just saying that made him want to weep. Somehow, he held himself together, if only in an effort to convince Harvey that he'd be okay without him. "It won't be like before. I really do feel stronger.” Not so strong at that exact moment, but he wasn’t lying when he said he thought he could do it by himself, by attending meetings and working the steps. Maybe he would look for a regular sort of sponsor. The thought of that nearly caused his composure to crumble completely. He folded his arms over his chest, and watched Harvey prowl back and forth in front of him.

"I don't know, Mike. I hate the thought of you out there by yourself, with no support system."

Mike had no answer to that. He didn't like it either, but couldn't see any other choice. He couldn’t change the way things were, and didn’t have the strength to argue. All he wanted to do was escape, to regroup as he’d said, go home and lick his wounds. There was also a different worry bouncing around in his head, and in the interest of changing subjects, he now gave voice to it. “Do you think you – or the firm – could give me a reference when I look for a new job?”

That stopped Harvey in his tracks. He glared down at Mike. “What? No. Wait. I mean no, you don’t need to do that. You still have the job, whether we’re together or not.”

“I don’t need your charity, Harvey. Or your pity.”

“Dial back on the drama, Mike. This is neither charity nor pity. You’re damned good at your job. Rachel already finds you indispensable.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

A stubborn silence fell between them -- stubborn on both sides. Then Harvey said, "Do you really have a choice here? How long will you last with no source of income?"

And that was true. The prospect of running into Harvey on a daily basis after this conversation though....He wasn't sure he could survive that.

Maybe Harvey saw that in his face, or intuited it, because he added, voice gentler than before, "Keep the job for now. Please. In fact, I'm not prepared to call anything off yet."

Mike's mouth fell open in disbelief. "That's not something you can decide unilaterally."

"I don't care. I haven't forgotten what happened when I left you for a week. You nearly destroyed your life."

"Harvey --"  

"Let me finish. You're upset. I get it. But you're not in the right frame of mind right now to make such an important decision. So here's what we're going to do."

Mike might have simply gotten up walked out, but there was something so compelling about Harvey getting all take-charge and demanding, and Mike might not ever have a chance to experience this again, so he stayed where he was and let Harvey continue, even as his mind and his heart remained firmly set against whatever Harvey might be proposing.

"Take the weekend. Get some distance from the situation and really think about whether or not you are ready to do this one your own. If the answer is no, but you can't stomach staying with me, at least let me find you another Dom. I can think of two or three off the top of my head who might be a good fit. Can you agree to that?"

Mike didn't trust his voice, so he gave Harvey a jerky nod. He didn't want another Dom, didn't want to submit to anyone buy Harvey. Still, his grief and exhaustion had not obliterated his reason, and he could see the wisdom of allowing for a little time and distance before he came to a decision, even if he did not believe he would change his mind.

His concession had an immediate effect on Harvey, who appeared so relieved that Mike thought he must be imagining it. "Thank you," Harvey whispered. He retook his seat, leaning forward and reaching out a hand towards Mike's knee, but then pulling it back and resting it on the arm of his chair. "If this is what you really want, go get packed, and I'll drive you home."

"I'm packed already."

Harvey's cheek twitched, as if he'd developed a tic. “Are you?" He didn't move, gaze falling into the middle distance between himself and Mike. His fingers drummed against the chair and then stopped abruptly. "Mike, I’m sorry I fucked this up so badly.”

Mike straightened, scowling. “Don’t say that. You were a great Dom. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I'm the one will all of the stupid emotions.”

“Nevertheless, I should have seen this coming. And I shouldn't have pushed you last night."

Mike shrugged. There wasn't much more he could say on the subject. Exhaustion weighed him down, and sadness filled him so completely it would probably start leaking from his pores at any moment. He was too tired to feel agitated any longer, which probably gave him the courage to ask his next question. "Have you ever felt that?"

"Hm?" Harvey gave him a questioning head tilt.

"Have you ever felt like this? Been in love?" Mike looked down at his hands, embarrassed to have spoken that word again, and to have reminded Harvey of his earlier outburst. What did it matter anymore, though? He'd thrown it all out there for Harvey to see. Maybe Harvey owed him an answer to the question.

"Oh. Well." Harvey scratched behind one ear. "I thought I was once, but that was a long time ago."

"What happened?"

"She got the grade she needed in _Patent Litigation,_ and dropped my like a bad habit -- to date her _Commercial Bankruptcy_ professor."

"Ouch."

Harvey wrestled his grimace into a pained smile. "I knew she was driven and ambitious, but never figured her for disloyal."

Mike nodded, even though he didn’t completely understand. Harvey’s experience might have been painful, but it hardly seemed traumatic enough to turn someone off of love forever, and Mike suspected there was more to it. Ultimately, it didn’t matter what or who had made Harvey the way he was. Perhaps he would navigate his way out of that maze of disillusionment one day, but Mike obviously wouldn’t be the one to lead him out. He stood up. “I should go. I can just call a cab.”

“No. I’ll take you.”

Mike wasn’t up for another argument. He gave Harvey a dispirited nod, and walking on legs that felt almost too heavy to lift, he went to get his bag.

 

******

 

Mike tried to relax the rest of the day, he really did. His apartment felt stale and empty and cold when Harvey dropped him off. He turned on the heat and settled onto the couch, intent on sinking into his usual Saturday morning _Law and Order_ trance, followed by whatever action movies he'd seen a million times already, that the cable networks had placed in rotation for this weekend.

It only took perhaps ten minutes before he began to grow nervous and unsettled. His brain kept telling him he was not allowed this sort of indulgence, and that irritated him. The habits he'd picked up during his stay with Harvey had stuck with him, it seemed. He toughed it out for another half hour, but he couldn't concentrate on McCoy's latest legal catastrophe, and finally gave in to the nagging voice in his head insisting that he get up and _do something_.

First, he put away his clean clothes and sorted the dirty ones for a trip to the laundry room later. Then he straightened up the living room, put all of his books back on the shelves, recycled some old newspapers, and dusted everything. Next, he tackled the bathroom. It wasn't that bad, since he hadn't been home in a while, but he cleaned the toilet, scoured the sink and bath tub, and even mopped the floor and hit it with some dubious wax-like product which had likely expired years ago.

By noon, he had scrubbed every surface in the kitchen, emptied all of the science experiments from the refrigerator, the inside of which he then attacked with liberal doses of anti-bacterial cleaner. After he'd carried out the trash and the recycling, it was only two-o'clock. He needed to get some groceries, and by then it might be time to begin preparing dinner. Once that was finished though....

He scratched the back of his head, wondering how he would make it through his first post-Harvey night. He pulled out his phone and found two back-to-back meetings in his neighborhood, AA followed by NA. The first one started at seven. He decided to shop for and prepare a relatively complicated dinner, which should keep him occupied until then.

While he was out, he stopped into the health food store down the block which he had avoided for the three years since he'd moved in, and came out with two brands of herbal tea recommended by the clerk for help with insomnia, as well as the names of several free meditation apps he could download to his phone.

When he arrived home, he found his new suits, which he'd left hanging in Harvey's condo, sitting in front of his apartment door inside several bulky garment bags. He felt a pang of... _something_ at the sight of them. Anger? Gratitude? Disappointment that he had missed a visit from Harvey? He did need the suits for work, so it felt childish to be angry at Harvey for bringing them over. Still, he made a mental note to call Rene on Monday to find out exactly how much they'd cost, and begin stashing any extra money away so he could eventually pay Harvey back for them.

Inside his apartment, he hung up the suits, dumped all of his grocery bags on the kitchen counter, put everything away except the mountain of vegetables he needed to wash and chop for the stir-fry he'd planned, and began to feel pleased at the control he'd taken over his day.

He wasn't wondering if Harvey would be likewise pleased with him, and he was not picturing the warmth in Harvey's eyes that meant he was proud of his boy.

Nope. Uh uh. Never crossed his mind.

_Liar_  

******

 

The tea helped, and he ended up getting a relatively good night's sleep, even if he did have to get up twice to take a piss. Sunday morning, he lay awake in bed, reflecting that if he had only managed to keep his mouth shut Friday night, he could be waking up next to Harvey, and could have his lips wrapped around his beautiful cock right at that instant, could be choking on it and savoring all of the sexy noises Harvey made. It would have felt great, but it would have also felt wrong. Sleeping in Harvey's bed, feeling the way that Mike felt, would have amounted to a lie, and among so many other things, Harvey had taught him that you couldn't get anything worth having without honesty.

On the other hand, it didn't seem fair that his honesty had gotten him _this_ \-- waking up alone in a cold apartment with an ocean-sized emptiness inside his chest.

He could almost hear Harvey scolding him. _Dial back on the drama, Mike._ The memory of those words made him smile, and made it easier to swing his legs over the side of the bed and get himself moving into what promised to be another long, lonely day.

 

Without a gym available for a workout, Mike fell back on his favorite form of exercise -- riding his bike. Of course, first he had to retrieve his bike from where it was still chained up in Harvey's parking garage. He endured the subway ride, and shivered throughout the three block walk to the Harvey's building. The doorman recognized him, and he got inside with no problem, taking the elevator down to the correct level and fumbling with the combination lock. He didn't take a comfortable breath until he was mounted and pedaling easily away from the building, putting distance between himself and a possibly awkward meeting with Harvey.

Traffic was sparse this early on a Sunday, so he treated himself to a nice long ride, coasting through the park, and Hell's Kitchen, cutting over to the bikeway along the Hudson, deciding that it was too cold with the wind blowing in over the water, and heading to Canal Street, where pedestrian traffic was already beginning to thicken. He considered stopping to browse some of the stalls, but decided that he'd better save his money, just in case. He continued south to Greenwich Village and Tribeca, then turned east and back north to the East Village, pedaling slowly until he found the great little pho place he remembered. He took a window table and slurped down some noodles while eying the massing clouds and freshening breeze. It had been a nice, late autumn ride, a bit chilly at first, but the exercise had warmed him. The weather was turning, though, and he judged it was time to head home.

As he rode south, heading for the bridge, he was stopped for a red light at Delancey. He wasn't thinking of it consciously, but he happened to turned his head to the right and saw it about a block and a half away: the Holiday Inn. The place Harvey had stashed Charles Van Dyke.

The light changed. Mike hesitated, and then took the right turn. He didn't have anything better to do with his afternoon, and the man had been kind to him during the brief time that they'd crossed paths.   Mike felt a certain responsibility toward him, since he'd been the one to bring attention to him, attention which he probably did not relish.

The young woman at the front desk gave Mike the suite number without any coaxing, and didn't even object when he wheeled his bike through the lobby and onto the elevator. He rode up to the twelfth floor, knocked on the door, waited, and stepped back in surprise when neither Rachel nor Donna opened the door. Instead, he found himself facing an attractive curly headed man perhaps ten years older than him, wearing jeans and a dark blue button down shirt, with a friendly, open expression, and a stethoscope draped around his neck.

_Right. The doctor._

"Um. Hi. I'm Mike Ross, and I'm here to see Charles Van Dyke."

"What's the password?" The doctor's face had gone serious.

"The...what?"

Now the doctor broke into a grin and opened the door wider. "I'm just teasing. Come on in." When Mike was inside, and the door was closed, the doctor stuck out his hand, and Mike shook it. "Hank Lawson. I'm glad Charlie is getting visitors. Feeling isolated is the last thing he needs right now."

_Charlie?_ "How's he doing?"

"His first twenty-four hours were pretty rough. The second twenty-four weren't so great either. He's past the worst of it, I think."

"Good, good." Mike glanced around the beige and green room and leaned his bike carefully against the wall. "Are Rachel and Donna still here?"

"They went out to get something to eat. Left about half an hour ago. Just before the other guy showed up."

"The other guy?"

"I didn't catch his name, but he's apparently an old friend of Charlie's."

Now Mike could hear raised voices behind the closed door to his left. Trying to appear casual, he approached quietly and put his ear to the door. He couldn't hear the words being spoken, but was reasonably sure he recognized the second voice. Holding his breath, he cracked the door open and confirmed his suspicions. Daniel Hardman was sitting in a chair next to the bed, having what looked like a heated argument with Charles Van Dyke. Mike eased the door shut.

His rising panic must have shown on his face. "Problem?" asked Dr. Lawson, concern in his eyes.

Mike didn't know what to say, wasn't certain how much he could trust the doctor. "Bathroom?" he managed to get out. Dr. Lawson pointed, and Mike hurried inside and shut the door. Later, he would reflect that even though he had several choices of people he could call -- Rachel, Donna, Jessica -- none of them occurred to him at that exact moment. He needed Harvey. Harvey would handle this. Ignoring the breathless rush of nerves which assaulted him, he dialed Harvey's number.

Harvey picked up immediately. "Mike? Are you all right?"

Mike blinked rapidly and had to swallow hard at the warmth and worry in Harvey's voice. "I'm fine. Freaking out a little. I'm at the Holiday Inn. Just got stopped in on a whim. Daniel Hardman is in the bedroom with Charlie."

"Charlie?"

"Van Dyke. Charles. Whatever."

"Aren't Donna and Rachel still there?"

"No, Sir. They went out for some lunch. What do I do? Bust in and bodily remove him? Have the doc give him a knockout shot?"

"First of all, calm down. Breathe. Now, are you okay? Not going to pass out? Good. I'm leaving my place right now. Give me fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. Don't antagonize Hardman -- he's dangerous when he's cornered -- but get in that room and make sure that Charles doesn't sign anything. Can you do that?"

"Sure. Sure sure. I can do that."

"Good. And thank you for calling me. I've...." A soft sigh washed against Mike's ear. "I'll be there soon."

The line went dead. Mike stared at his phone, replaying the sound of himself calling Harvey "Sir," without even meaning to. He shook his head roughly.

When Mike exited the bathroom, Dr. Lawson eyed him closely. "Is there anything I need to know, that concerns my patient?"

"That man in there is not his friend." Mike was already moving toward the bedroom door, but Dr. Lawson stepped in front of him and halted his progress with a hand on his chest.

The doctor's expression remained friendly, but his voice held a distinct edge when he spoke. "I don't know him, but I don't know you either. Why should I believe you?"

"Charles -- Charlie -- knows me. I don't know if he'd consider me a friend, but all I can tell you is I promise I have his best interests at heart." He grasped the doctor's wrist and slowly pulled his hand down and out of the way, meeting little resistance as he did so. Then he slid around him and barged into the room, trailed by Dr. Lawson.

Hardman was bent over the bed holding out a piece of paper and a pen. He froze at the sight of Mike and straightened slowly, leaving paper and pen on Van Dyke’s chest. “Excuse me, but this is a private meeting.”

Before Mike could form a response, Van Dyke interrupted. “Hey, I know you. We’ve met before, I think.” His voice shook slightly, but was otherwise strong.

“Yes we have. And you need to wait before you sign anything.”

Hardman stepped up to Mike, eyes flashing with anger. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Mike!” called Van Dyke suddenly. “Mike Ross. That’s your name.”

Mike was impressed that he’d remembered. “That’s right,” he said. “You were kind to me when you didn’t need to be.” He shot a quick look at Hardman, whose face now held a calculating look.

“Mike Ross? Oh, that's right. My newest employee. Failed drug dealer, currently on probation. In a highly questionable and unsavory relationship Harvey Specter. Don’t look so shocked. I do my homework. I wish you no harm, but know that if you interfere with me again, you may find your probation suddenly and mysteriously revo –” He broke off as a crumpled up piece of paper hit him in the side of his head.

“Leave him alone, you little turd,” said Charles Van Dyke.

Mike could hear Dr. Lawson’s chuckle behind him, followed by a cough. In front of him, Hardman had gone pink with anger. He stooped to pick up the paper, and smoothed it out against his chest.

“You will sign this, Charles. Remember what happened the last time you tried to defy me?”

“I certainly do, but that was back when I had so many things to lose. I've got nothing now. You already stole it all from me. So why don’t you take your ugly turd face, and your ridiculous poodle hair and fuck off.” Van Dyke winked at Mike, and folded his arms behind his head, as if extremely pleased with himself.

Surprisingly, Dr. Lawson stepped in at this point. “I’m going to have to second that. You’re agitating my patient, sir, which could quite possibly set his recovery back. Please leave now.”

Mike held in a snicker. Van Dyke looked as far from agitated as anyone Mike had ever seen, and he could have kissed the doctor for his intervention. Unfortunately, Hardman did not appear prepared to listen to either Van Dyke or the doctor.

“Doctor, unless you want to find yourself dismissed from whichever hospital you call home, I’d rethink my attitude if I were you.”

Dr. Lawson let loose with a delighted peal of laughter. “Of all the things you could threaten me with, that is absolutely the least effective. Been there, done that.”

"Oh, great," moaned Van Dyke. "This is the quack they send me?"

Seeming to take no offense, Dr. Lawson moved closer to the bed and began taking Van Dyke's pulse. "There aren't many that would put up with all your bitching and moaning."

Mike was still practically nose to nose with Hardman, and now he took a discreet half step back. "You should probably go," Mike told him. "None of your threats or bullying seem to be hitting the mark today."

"Bullying?" the other man scoffed. "Charles and I were merely having a pleasant conversation -- until you showed up, that is." He stepped forward, back into Mike's space, and lowered his voice. "I'd be careful, if I were you, because I've only scratched the surface of the trouble I could cause you."

Mike took two steps back and shot a quick glance at the bed. Lawson and Van Dyke were talking quietly together, ignoring Mike and Hardman for the moment. "Well," replied Mike, "if I were you -- which, thank god I'm not -- I wouldn't go around pissing off attorneys of the caliber of Harvey and Jessica."

Hardman continued to stalk Mike, finally backing him up against the wall. He shook his head, probably trying to appear sympathetic, but only managing to seem smarmier. "If you think I can't handle those two, you're as deluded as they are. On the other hand, if you help me out with Charles, I promise to show leniency toward you."

Mike didn't for one second doubt that Hardman could follow through on his threats -- except that Mike had Harvey on his side (he hoped), and despite Hardman's bluster, he believed unfalteringly in Harvey's ability to handle Hardman. Figuring he had little to lose by poking the bear, he said, "You're not going to be around long enough for any of your threats or promises to make a bit of difference in my life. You should probably leave now before you regret making them."

A look of uncertainty flitted across Hardman's face and was as quickly gone. He probably wasn't used to people disregarding his threats, at least not as casually as Mike had done. With an annoyed huff, he turned away and reclaimed the chair next to the bed. Mike took up a post next to the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and settled in to keep watch. He wasn't budging until Harvey showed up.

 

Charles, the focal point of their contention, appeared to fall asleep as soon as Dr. Lawson finished examining him. Noticing this, Hardman exploded in a series of low curses.

"Did you give him a shot?" Mike asked, half-heartedly wishing that Hardman could have some of the same.

"I didn't have to. The doctor spoke in a hushed voice. "Two sleepless nights are taking their toll. He needs to rest. Why don't you two take this to the other room? You can continue your glaring contest there, if you want to."

Mike waited for Hardman to move before he followed him out. At the door, he glanced back at Van Dyke, who he caught peeking at him through one slitted eye. Mike winked, and closed the door behind himself.

"You may as well know," Mike said to Hardman, "that reinforcements are on the way."

"What's the matter? Don't think you can handle me on your own?"

That was an excellent question. Finding himself alone with the man was making Mike decidedly nervous. Hardman wasn't physically imposing, but he gave the impression of a poisonous snake, coiled and ready to strike at any second.

"Look," said Mike, "maybe you can get through me, but that doctor seems awfully protective of his patient. Plus, two bad bitches are on their way back here as we speak, either followed or preceded by the city's best closer, who also happens to have a mean left hook...or right hook...okay, I don’t actually know what his moves are, but the man boxes for the fun of it, and I don't doubt that he'd be more than willing to use your face for sparring practice."

Instead of discouraging Hardman, Mike's words appeared to have the opposite effect. The man's eyes narrowed, and his hands balled up into fists. "You'd best watch your tone with me. You're nothing but a lowlife punk. Harvey's little whore. I, on the other hand, managed one of the most respected law firms in the country, and I know how to deal with people like you."

"Managed," Mike muttered. "Past tense."

"See, that right there is the type of disrespect that can land a person in all kinds of trouble."

"And what sort of trouble might that be?" asked a low, dangerous voice. _Harvey_.

Mike had been so focused on Hardman, that he'd missed the sound of the door opening. He sagged in relief, just now realizing how anxious the confrontation was making him.

"Harvey," oozed Hardman, all phony goodwill, "I haven't seen you since...well, since you came to gloat at my wife's funeral. And how on earth did you get here so fast? Did your latest little toy here tattle on me?"

"His name is Mike, and when you speak to him, I'd like you to show him some goddamned respect. Now, I don't know how you found out Charles was here, but I can guess. I suppose that despite all of your many terrible qualities, you always were a resourceful sonofabitch."

"Oh, stop. You'll hurt my feelings."

"Daniel," purred Harvey, stalking slowly across the room, "if you don't leave right now, I'll hurt a lot more than your feelings."

Every hair on Mike's body seemed to rise to attention in response to the power emanating from Harvey, and to a lesser extent, from Hardman.   He suppressed a shiver, and stepped back out of the way -- out of the line of fire.

Hardman didn't move, except to cross his arms over his chest. "I really don't understand what your beef is with me. What did I do that was so wrong?"

"Are you shitting me? Where should I begin? How about we start with the way you treated me, and Jessica, and everyone else at the firm, as pawns in whatever slimy, Machiavellian game you imagined you were playing."

Hardman gave a shout of laughter. "I know you're not that thin skinned. It's a rough and tumble profession, as you well know. Is that all you've got?"

Harvey glanced up at the ceiling, lips pursed, pretending to remember. "There was something else. Some other 'beef,' as you put it. Oh, right, it had something to do with you embezzling all that money from the firm to pay off your mistress. I suppose you'd say that's just the nature of _that_ profession?"

"My God, Harvey, your hypocrisy knows no bounds. You set your own little piece of ass up rather nicely, with a job for which he has no qualifications. Perhaps not as blatant, but it's still pay for play, right? I understand you've also actually got him installed in your ice palace in the sky. Must be a pretty hot piece of ass for that kind of devotion. You were never a fan of that sort of domestication, if memory serves."

"Daniel...."

The dark, warning tone of Harvey's voice made Mike long to drop to his knees. He clutched the back of the chair behind which he was standing, and braced for violence to break out.

"Yes?" said Hardman, all innocence.

Harvey paced closer, until he stood only an arm's length away. "I believe I asked you to show Mike some respect." Deceptively calm.

"Huh. Respect? You mean like you do? The kind of respect where you parade him around in public in only his underwear? The kind where you fuck him in front of a room full of strangers? Or would that be the kind of respect where you beat his naked ass until he screams for...mercy? Or screams for more? Hm? Help me out here. Narrow it down. What, precisely, am I supposed to show him respect for?"

Mike could not believe that Hardman had those details, and from the sudden, arrested look on Harvey's face, he couldn't believe it either. Mike began to fully comprehend for the first time what a dangerous, tricky opponent Hardman could be.

Unlike Mike (who knew his own mouth was hanging open in shock), Harvey's poker face was back in place almost immediately. "That was your last warning about Mike," he growled. "And here is your final warning regarding Charles and the firm. Before you arrived today, he already assured Rachel and Donna that he would go forward with a lawsuit against you. It's pretty ironclad, too. If you'd like to avoid jail time, you'll permanently waive any claims to the firm, the partnership will be dissolved, and you'll never show your face in the halls of Pearson.... Hm. New name to be determined later, I suppose. Although Pearson Specter has a nice ring to it."

"You can't really believe it's going to be that easy."

Even Mike could tell that Hardman was shaken by Harvey's words, and was merely engaging in bluster to save face.

Harvey smiled back at Hardman without a hint of warmth. "I'll give you twenty-four hours to respond to what I think is a rather generous offer, considering."

They glared at each other for another tense half minute. Then, with a pinched mouth and eyes shining with wrath, Daniel Hardman stomped to the door and left. Surprisingly, he did not slam the door after himself.

Mike let out a slow breath, not sure what to do or say. He felt embarrassingly grateful for Harvey's defense of him, but being alone with the man also felt impossibly awkward after their conversation the day before. He stared at the floor as silence settled between them.

Finally, Harvey broke the silence. "I'm glad you called me."

"I'm sorry I couldn't handle it on my own."

"It's fine, Mike. You did the right thing."

Mike shifted his feet and looked up, to find that Harvey had closed the distance between them. He was mouthwateringly handsome in faded jeans and tight black t-shirt. "I thought for a second you were really going to hit him."

Harvey's mouth pressed together and quirked up on one side. "If he'd made one more crack about you, I might have."

Mike didn't know what to say to that, so settled for a noncommittal, "Huh."

"I missed you last night."

Mike's heart pounded harder at that admission. He'd missed Harvey too, but didn't say so. He was supposed to be putting distance between them, after all. "Okay," he said, and took a step towards his bike.

"Wait."

Harvey didn't get any farther than that. The door opened, admitting Rachel and Donna, both of them out of breath and talking at once. They stopped and glared at each other, and then, as if some telepathic communication had passed between them, Donna stepped forward.

"We passed Hardman in the lobby. He looked like he was chewing glass. What the hell was he doing here? What did you do to him?" She paused for breath, eyes flicking back and forth between Harvey and Mike. "What are the two of you doing here anyway?"

Mike let Harvey fill them in on the events of the past half hour. He had his bike all the way to the door, with his hand on the doorknob, before Harvey stopped him.

"Hold up, Mike. Let me give you a ride home."

"I've got my bike, so...."

"We'll fit it in the back seat."

"Um." He could feel the interested gazes of both Donna and Rachel on him.

"Please."

Mike's stomach was jumping all over the place. Harvey appeared so serious and hopeful, that Mike couldn't say no. "Okay."

"Good. Just -- " He held both hands out in a "stay put" gesture. "Just hang here for a couple of minutes while I go talk to Charles and Hank."

Without giving Mike a chance to object, he disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind himself. Alone with the two woman, Mike swallowed, and the sound seemed to reverberate throughout the room. "So...how about that Dr. Lawson?"

"Oh, I know, right?" gushed Rachel. "A total hottie. Too bad for Donna, but I already called dibs on him."

Donna made a sound like _pfffftttt._ "Dibs don't apply to people, sweetie. He was totally checking me out earlier."

"Dream on," scoffed Rachel. "Besides, maybe Harvey's more his type."

"Doubtful. What do you say, Mike? Access the ol' gaydar. Yay or nay?"

"Um. _What?_ " He hadn't gotten any "vibes" from the doctor, but suddenly found himself worried about the conversation taking place behind the closed door. "Well," he said distractedly, "he didn't hit on me."

"Which proves what?"

"Someone's got a high opinion of themselves," laughed Rachel.

"What? No. I didn't mean -- "

"God, you're cute when you're rattled."

Mike sighed. "How much wine did you two drink at lunch?"

They both snickered, confirming his suspicion.

"Whenever you're ready to admit you have a problem," he said meanly, "I can get you a list of AA meetings in the area."

"Ugh," said Donna, making a face. "Nothing worse than a holier-than-thou ex-drunk. At least Harvey never feels compelled to preach." Her eyes narrowed. "But maybe you'd like to tell us all about what a great sponsor he's been for you...how strong and _commanding_...what a firm hand he takes with you."

Mike knew when he was beat. "Pass," he mumbled, and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"What do you mean?" said Rachel. "Harvey's doing him _and_ sponsoring him? Isn't that unethical or something?"

Mike began banging his head slowly but firmly against the wall.

The bedroom door opened, and Harvey came back into the room, along with Dr. Lawson.

"Mike? Stop that. You'll hurt yourself."

Donna made an unladylike snort. "Yeah, Mike. That's Harvey's job."

Both Rachel and Dr. Lawson wore nearly identical expression of confusion.

"I hope you're ready to go," said Mike, "because I'm leaving, with or without you."

"I'm done here." He shook hands with the doctor. "Thanks again Hank. I owe you big time for this."

Dr. Lawson waved him off. "It's what I do. And you will be getting a bill for my time." They walked together to the front door. "Will I see you up there this summer?"

"That depends on Boris. I come when he beckons."

Dr. Lawson was smiling. "You can't just come up for some sun and relaxation? If I was your doctor, I'd insist on it."

"If I ever get the time, I might take you up on that." Harvey opened the door. "Say hi to that crazy brother of yours for me."

"I'll do that."

Harvey waited for Mike to wheel his bike through the door before following him into the hallway. Mike bit his tongue all the way into the elevator, and then couldn't stop himself from asking. "How do you know, er, Hank?"

"We met through a mutual acquaintance. My client. His...benefactor, I guess. And friend."

"Are you two...I mean, did you ever...?"

Harvey chuckled. "Me and Hank? No, Mike."

"Oh." _Good._ "You know, I really think I'll just ride home. You don't have to go out of your way."

The elevator opened onto the lobby, and they exited.

"Have you looked outside lately?" asked Harvey. "It's pouring."

Mike could hear the rain now, drumming against the windows. Still, he hesitated. The thought of being trapped in a small space with Harvey was almost too painful to consider. The humiliations of the past two days were still too fresh in his mind.

Harvey placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing and massaging, and caught and held Mike’s gaze. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I missed you last night.”

Mike’s heart began to lift with faint hope. Then Harvey spoke again.

“I sleep so much better when you’re there beside me.”

Mike’s heart plummeted back to the floor. “Maybe a pet would help with that,” he said, voice dripping with acid.

“It’s not – ” Harvey broke off, and seemed to take a moment to compose himself. “I don’t want to have this conversation in the lobby of the Holiday Inn.”

“What conversation? We talked yesterday, and look how that ended up.” He started pushing his bike. Harvey held the door for him, and then they were out on the sidewalk, under the building overhang, watching the rain spatter on the ground in front of them.

“I’ve had some time to think,” said Harvey. “I have some things I need to say to you. Come on, the car’s this way.”

The temptation to simply get on his bike and make his escape was strong, but this was Harvey, and Mike couldn’t seem to say no to him. He followed him around the corner, and spent a few minutes figuring out how to pretzel his bike into the backseat of the car. He ended up removing the front tire and sticking it in in two pieces.

“Would you like to drive?” asked Harvey, holding out the keys to him.

“No, I would not.”

Harvey didn’t argue with him. He got in behind the wheel, and waited for Mike to take the passenger seat. Mike felt – and despised himself for feeling it – a flutter of happiness in his chest at being back in Harvey’s orbit, which was all kinds of fucked up. He brutally squelched the feeling. This was only a brief moment, he told himself, and then he’d be home, and Harvey would speak his piece and Mike would once more be alone. If he couldn’t handle this, though, how would he survive working at Pearson…Specter? Would his slowly healing heart get ripped open every time they ran into each other? Would he become like Prometheus, except instead of having his liver eaten by an eagle every day, his heart would be stomped underfoot daily by Harvey?

He stared out the side window, watching the rain wet down the city. Beside him, Harvey was quiet, evidently not up to the multi-tasking required by driving while laying waste to Mike’s future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know that ended in kind of a weird place, but the alternative was to keep going into the next part, which may take a while to get down. At least there is now a little hope on the horizon for these two...maybe?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos on the previous chapter!

“Sorry about the mess,” said Mike, leaning his bike against the wall and turning to face Harvey. The apartment suddenly seemed impossibly small, the air too thick to comfortably breathe.

Harvey chuckled. “Mess? It looks like an OCD germaphobe has taken up residence.”

“Oh. Right.” He hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from Harvey for long enough to see the spotless place he had created. He took a glance behind himself. “I forgot that I cleaned a little yesterday.” _Like Monica Geller on meth_.

Harvey walked to the couch and sat down, looking as if he planned to stay a while.

“Are you hungry?” Mike asked. “Thirsty?”

“I’m fine. Come here. Please.” He patted the seat next to him.

It still felt weird to be sitting in Harvey’s presence, and not kneeling at his feet, but Mike pushed down his uneasiness and sat, being careful to keep as much distance between himself and Harvey as he could. Still, he was close enough to feel the strong gravitational pull of the man. “So…what did you want to talk about?”

Harvey’s frown deepened. “I’ve been doing some thinking since you left yesterday.”

It was on the tip of Mike’s tongue to retort that he’d rather hear that Harvey had been doing some _feeling,_ but he glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth and remained silent.

Despite Harvey’s evident need to get something off his chest, he likewise remained quiet, the line of his lips moving and contorting minutely, as if searching for the correct word with which to begin. Finally, “Mike,” he murmured, and sighed.   “Have I ever told you what I was like when I was drinking?”

This was not what Mike had been expecting. He shrugged. “Sort of. The night we met, you gave your three year speech.” One side of his mouth curled up. “I could repeat it back to you. Verbatim.”

A dry laugh. “Jesus. I'd rather you didn't.”

“Well, to sum up, you were a holy terror with a God complex.”

Harvey stretched out his legs and stared ahead into the middle distance, a bemused look on his face. “That’s not what I said. And I wasn’t that bad. Bad enough, but not that bad.” He shot Mike a wry look. “Although, now that you mention it, maybe the God complex persists. I mean, look at us.” The smile dissolved, and he waved a hand dismissively. “How we were, that is. Two days ago. When we were….”

“Were what?”

Instead of answering, Harvey surged to his feet and began to pace, a reaction that Mike recognized by now as the onset of nerves. “When I was drinking,” Harvey said at last, “I didn’t have to feel. Mom cheats on Dad? Take a drink. Mentor treats me like shit? Take a drink. Need to celebrate a big win? Take ten drinks, fuck a stranger into oblivion and wake up in Atlantic City. Because even the wins were painful on some level.”

Mike frowned. “Why?”

“Because…because part of me thought I didn’t deserve them, or there was always another, tougher fight looming on the horizon, or it all came at too high a cost…to me, or the client, or our opponent. Maybe from the outside, the law looks like this civilized dance, with rules and honor and all of that bullshit. In reality, it’s a fucking blood sport that never ends. It eats away at your soul, at whatever reserves of integrity you have hidden away.”

Mike’s eyes tracked Harvey as he prowled around the small space. “That sounds…dire. Is it really that bad?”

Harvey shook his head, a vague response at best. “I was wound so tight. I wanted to be the best, and some days I achieved that. To be honest, there were too many days -- and nights -- that the buzzing energy and crazy adrenaline rush made me feel like a raw, exposed nerve."

He turned and gazed down at Mike. "So I drank. If I drank just the right amount, and not too much, I achieved a sort of...sweet spot, I suppose you could call it, where I could function at my best. Or at least that's what I told myself. Booze was the insulation to my live wire, or the civilizing influence to the unprincipled asshole the job sometimes requires me to be. Except when it wasn't any of that, but was just a terrible habit that made me do incredibly stupid shit."

Mike didn't know what to say, and couldn't work out what it was that Harvey was trying to tell him, so he stared back helplessly, cataloging every detail of the man, indulging in another hit, another dose of Harvey, all the while knowing what it would feel like when Harvey walked away from him this time. Before yesterday, it had been a hypothetical pain. Now, today, he'd experienced it and knew how excruciating it would be.

Harvey broke the eye contact and reached into his pocket to pull out a coin, holding it up to show Mike. It took him a few seconds to collect himself enough realize that it was the three year coin Harvey had received the night they'd met.

"I told myself a shit load of lies before I started earning this," Harvey continued. "What it boiled down to was fairly pedestrian. We hear it over and over at the meetings, right? I didn't want to feel my life. And when I quit, and all of those feelings demanded to be let out into the light, I had Jake to help me cope. Eventually I achieved a sort of truce with my emotions. I dealt with all the bullshit accumulated over a lifetime, and that served to make new stuff that comes up more manageable."

"Like with Clifford Danner?" The question was out before Mike realized he was going to ask it.

Harvey nodded easily. "Sure. Like that. Except I still needed a little refresher from Jake." He perched on the edge of his corner of the couch, turning his body to face Mike. "Now, though, for the first time since...." He held up the coin again. "For the first time since I got this, I'm feeling out of my depth, and, frankly, unsettled."

Mike's heart seemed to stop and then start again. What was Harvey saying? Did he dare hope...? _Don't,_ he ordered himself.

"Do you know how I spent last night?" asked Harvey.

_With Ronnie? With Jake? Both?_ "I have no idea."

"For the first time in over three years, I attended back to back meetings."

That surprised a sharp laugh out of Mike. "No shit? I did the same thing."

"Did you? I'm glad to hear that. Not so glad that you felt you needed it, but I'm pleased that you knew enough to reach out."

Mike shifted his gaze so he couldn't see the warm approval in Harvey's eyes, because it was doing things to him that made it difficult to think, much less speak.

"Anyway," said Harvey after a pause, "I realized something as I was sitting there, listening to some stranger talk about how much he missed drinking -- missed the taste, and the heat of it going down, and the feeling when it hits your bloodstream and calms your thoughts, and slows them down to something bearable. What I realized is that I don't miss that anymore, not really, and I was sitting in that chair, in that room, for an entirely different reason."

"Yeah?" asked Mike faintly. "And what was that?"

"Because...Mike, please look at me. Because I missed _you_. Scening with you, sleeping with you, just being with you -- all of that calms my thoughts better than alcohol ever did. You're my new habit, but you're a good habit."

The admission should have made Mike happy, but it didn't. As declarations went, it left a lot to be desired, and it sent a wave of sadness and longing through him, because it changed nothing. What he heard Harvey saying was that he missed having a sub, and a houseboy, and a warm, wet mouth on his dick in the morning. If Harvey had a puppy that died, he'd miss it, but he could go to the pound and adopt a new one to take its place. It was the same with Mike. Harvey could find a new sub and slot him or her right into his life to take Mike's place.

Harvey was waiting for a response. "I miss you too," Mike finally answered weakly. He allowed himself a humorless laugh. "So you're saying we're both going through withdrawals?"

"Heh. Maybe. The difference, of course, is that I can't simply go find another Mike. You're unique."

"You could always purchase Ronnie by the hour." He knew he was being childish and spiteful, but couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth.

Harvey's dark eyes regarded him somberly. "You deserve to get your ass beat for that kind of talk."

Mike felt himself go pink at the reprimand, even as his cock stirred, responding to Harvey's tone of voice and threat of punishment. "By you?" he asked. "Or will any old Dom do?"

Harvey sat back, narrowing his eyes. "Your tune has certainly changed since yesterday. What happened to all that talk of falling in love?"

"Don't you dare mock me for that," Mike snarled.

"I'm not mocking." Harvey sighed and rubbed at his forehead, as if he was getting a headache. "Just....I don't get it. Why are we both suffering like this?"

"Are you? Are you suffering? I already gave you the solution to that. Find another sub. Get out your Amex and go see Ronnie."

"Mike, you need to knock that shit off right now. Ronnie doesn't deserve your scorn. Or your jealousy, for that matter."

Mike took several slow, deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. "But apparently he needs you defending him, even though he's not here." He waited, but Harvey didn't deny it. "What are you doing here, really? What do you have to say to me that hasn't been said already?"

"I care about you -- "

"Oh, _Christ._ No. Just no. Stop right there. After the things I said yesterday, you don't get to come back with your lukewarm 'I care about you' speech. Better to say nothing. Don't insult me." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the far wall.

He heard Harvey sigh once more. "I won't say it then. But it's true. I also need you."

"Ronnie -- "

"I told you that you need to let that go, Mike. Seriously. This has nothing to do with Ronnie. I don't know exactly what's going on in that brain of yours, but let me set you straight on one thing. I am not in love with Ronnie. I never was, and I never will be. Yes, we have history. Part of it you know already. Beyond that, he was the first sub I scened with when Jake began training me as a Dom. He's a nice kid. I like him. If you weren't so determined to hold onto this insane jealousy, I bet you'd like him too."

"Fine," Mike managed to get out through his suddenly tight jaw. "Forget Ronnie. If you intend to stipulate to the assertion that you prefer me over him, I'll believe you. I'll also acknowledge that you miss me, and I miss you. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change a goddamn thing. This thing between us...it may be based on an exchange of power, but if I let it go on any longer, knowing that you hold this extra advantage over me, knowing that I'll always feel more for you than you do for me, knowing that you know...that -- " He broke off in frustration, feeling tangled up in his own words. "Let me ask you a simple, straightforward question. Do you love me?"

The micro expressions which flitted across Harvey's face were fascinating to watch, and impossible to interpret. Mike didn't dare blink, lest he miss something. In the end, Harvey let out a harsh huff of air which told Mike everything he needed to know.

"I can't."

"No," said Mike, his heart breaking all over again, "I don't suppose you can." He slumped back against the couch. "You should probably go."

"No, you don't understand." Harvey sounded so frustrated that Mike might have felt sorry for him -- if he wasn't so preoccupied feeling sorry for himself.

"Feel free to explain it to me."

Mike waited, but as he'd expected, no explanation was forthcoming. Instead, Harvey repeated, "I care about you, but there's nothing lukewarm about it. I need you in my life, and you need me." His voice cracked as he spoke, and he looked as close to tears as Mike had ever seen him.

It was difficult to remain strong in the face of Harvey's obvious emotion. Mike felt himself weakening, and sternly reminded himself that caring and needing were both only distant cousins to love. "No," he said, "It's not enough. I need someone who feels the same for me as I do for them."

Harvey rubbed harder at his forehead, pushing two fingers in rough circles near his temple. "Okay. I was afraid you'd say that." He reached into his jacket pocket, bringing out a sheet of folded paper. "I made up a list for you. They're all members of _Payne,_ thoroughly vetted, and, I believe, suited to your needs as a sub."

Mike shook his head stubbornly.

"Please, Mike. I'd feel better knowing someone was taking care of you."

Mike stared at Harvey's hand, and the neatly creased paper trembling in the air in front of him. He shook his head again. "No. I'll find someone on my own." He hadn't been certain until that moment that he would look for another Dom, but this gesture of Harvey's, which was probably meant to be selfless and generous, filled him will dull anger, and he felt the sudden, entirely unadmirable impulse to find someone else out of sheer spite. "It'll feel less like I'm being passed off that way."

"Mike," Harvey breathed, regret shading the word. He withdrew his hand. "Okay." He got to his feet. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Bye." The single syllable sounded strangled. And then Harvey opened the door and was gone. The door clicked shut behind him.

"Bye," answered Mike, or tried to. He couldn't even get the whole word out, even as brief as it was.

 

******

 

Monday morning arrived, and Mike just couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself get up and get dressed and face the near certainty of seeing Harvey again. He called early enough that Rachel wasn't in yet, and left a message on her voicemail. He left his options open, and didn't quit outright. Instead, he manufactured a weak, hoarse voice and claimed he'd come down with a bug. He felt bad for lying to Rachel -- and for letting her down -- but not bad enough to override his Harvey-phobia.

In the end -- in a day or two -- he might be able to bring himself to be in the same building as Harvey. In a day or two, he might also be convinced that his career alternatives were nonexistent, and be forced to return to Pearson...Whomever...in order to make sure his next month's rent got paid.

He'd come up with a contingency plan, however, an outside possibility which he intended to explore while he was out "sick." He dressed carefully, choosing his nicest pair of jeans, and the least objectionable t-shirt (while trying not to think longingly of the clothes he'd left behind at Harvey's place).

He left early enough to make it to his regular Monday morning piss test on time, and then sweated it out while he waited for the results, which were negative. He assumed that he had a while to wait until _Payne_ opened for the day, and had no desire to bike all the way home only to turn around and come back downtown. The rain had stopped, but it was still too cold to remain outside for long, so he headed over to Grace's Diner for breakfast and a visit with Clifford Danner.

He snagged the last available booth, waved hello to Danner, who was clearing tables on the other side of the diner, and placed his order with the friendly but harassed looking waitress. When the food came, he shoveled it in, barely tasting it. Lunch the day before had been his last meal, and he was hungry.

"Mike Ross."

He looked up to see Danner regarding him with a grin on his face.

"Yep," he replied. "I had a little free time, and thought I'd stop in for some of Grace's outstanding banana waffles."

"Actually, the cook's name is Walter, and Grace retired about twenty years ago."

"Are you on a break?"

By way of an answer, Danner slid into the seat across from Mike. "I'll always have time for you. What's up? Staying out of trouble?"

"Trying to. Today I'm exploring my employment options."

"Oh shit. That does not sound fun."

"Yeah. I'm thinking of making a change. Unfortunately, my options are limited, to say the least."

Danner nodded thoughtfully. "I could talk to Walter for you. His weekend assistant quit yesterday. You any good with a spatula?"

"Um. I'm sure I could figure it out. But there's another possibility I'm looking into today."

"Okay. You just let me know. I'll hook you up."

Mike wasn't sure he deserved such generosity. "Hey, thanks. If this other thing doesn't pan out, I'll definitely let you know."

"Cool. Guess I'd better get back to work. I'm getting the evil eye from Denise."

Mike turned his head in the direction Danner was looking. The pretty cashier was indeed giving Danner the eye, but it didn't look at all evil to Mike. "I think she likes you," he observed.

"Naw," he smiled, and then squinted his eyes before turning back to Mike. "You think so?"

"From where I'm sitting, I'd say you should ask her to dinner and find out."

"Huh. Yeah, okay. Maybe I will." He grinned at Mike before he stood up. "But not with you sitting there watching the show. I'll wait until after you clear out of here."

That seemed to be Mike's cue to leave. He lingered over his coffee for a few minutes more, and then paid his bill and left.

 

******

 

The front door at _Payne_ was locked, and Mike couldn't see any lights on inside. It didn't surprise him, since it wasn't even noon yet.   He knocked softly on the door, not expecting an answer, knocked again, and jumped back reflexively when the door opened to reveal the owner himself: Lester Payne. He wore grey slacks and a white, button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to mid-forearm.

"Mike?" he asked, brows furrowed in confusion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Ah. Maybe. It doesn't look like you're open yet, though, so I'll just...." He jerked his thumb behind himself to indicate that he'd be going.

Payne’s hand landed on Mike’s arm, and then carefully withdrew. "Wait a moment. You're correct. We don't open until five. I'm here working on the books. Would you like to come inside out of the cold?"

Nervous about the question he'd come here to ask, Mike chewed his lower lip indecisively for a few seconds. "If you don't mind. I don't want to....Um. My bike...."

Payne opened the door wider and stepped to one side. "Bring the bike inside. Leave it here by the door."

Mike might have hesitated, but despite Payne's soft voice, his words carried the weight of orders, to which Mike responded almost unthinkingly. He wheeled his bike inside, leaned it against the wall, and followed Payne through the dark space to his office. He froze in surprise. Looking past Payne's compact work area, he could see that the rest of the room was filled with an assortment of BDSM furniture and equipment.

"Wow," said Mike. "That's an impressive setup."

Payne smiled. "A privilege of ownership." He gestured at one of the plush leather chairs in front of his desk, while he took the seat behind the desk.

Mike sat, trying to collect his thoughts.

"What's on your mind, Mike?"

Did he really want to do this? He began to gnaw on his thumbnail, but something in Payne's expression, in the steel gray of his eyes, made Mike stop, and sit up straighter, hands gripping the armrests of the chair. Doing his best not to stammer, he said, "I came here to see about the possibility of maybe getting a job here."

The only part of Payne that moved were his dark, silver-dusted eyebrows, which lifted in apparent surprise. "A job? What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

Mike blew out a breath, hoping to lessen the tension in his stomach. All of a sudden, he felt stupid for even asking. He was here though, and Payne was waiting. "I was wondering if you had the need for another paid sub."

Payne folded his hands on the desk blotter and leaned back. "I was given to understand that you signed a contract with Harvey."

"I did, but -- " It actually, physically hurt him to say the words out loud, to admit it to another person, but Payne needed to know. "I safeworded on Friday."

"Out of a scene? But surely -- "

"Out of everything. We're done, Harvey and me. The contract is ripped up. Well, figuratively. I think. He might have. I don't know. I mean...."

"Mike."

At the sound of the authoritative voice, Mike bit down on the rest of whatever else had been about to dribble out of his mouth. Payne rose slowly to his feet and walked around his desk. He stood over Mike, staring down at him. He was around the same height as Mike, but right now he appeared to loom over him at easily seven feet tall. Why, Mike wondered, had he never noticed the raw power of the man? He felt it now, like a physical thing all around him. And maybe it was that power, or maybe it was the realization that he was in a sense auditioning for the job, but between one careful breath and the next, Mike found himself kneeling on the floor, head bowed and wrists crossed behind his back.

"Mike," said Payne again, questioning, and amused, and stern all at once. "Tell me what happened."

Mike considered the possible responses. He wasn't prepared to tell Payne the truth, nor did he wish to lie to him. "Things didn't work out." He hoped that would be enough to satisfy. He kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on the floor, not intending to say anything more on the subject. Payne waited him out. Finally, Mike sighed. "You saw what happened Friday night. With Ronnie?"

"I saw that you were upset. Why didn't you safeword then? You say you waited until Harvey took you home."

"I...I was confused. I'm still pretty new at this."

"And yet you want me to hire you as a professional. I normally require more experience than you possess."

Mike swallowed painfully, cursing himself for his strategic error. "I know. I mean that makes sense." He looked up, striving to appear as meltingly sincere as possible. "But Harvey always said that I was good. A good boy. You can ask Jake, too, if you're looking for references.   He once said I was the sweetest little sub he'd ever seen.” He blushed as he recalled that moment. “And maybe...maybe not all of your members are looking for someone with tons of experience. Everyone has different wants and needs, right?"

Payne's expression told Mike he was conflicted. "I don’t know, Mike. I should really talk to Harvey first."

"Why?" demanded Mike. "I'm not his property. I told you our contract is void. I'm a free agent."

"Hm," was all Payne said. He leaned back against the edge of the desk, appearing to think it over.

Mike dropped his gaze again, mentally berating himself for becoming so argumentative, and for not addressing Payne as "sir."

"Here's what I'll do," Payne finally said. He swiveled to the side and slid open a drawer in the filing cabinet next to the desk, pulling out a stapled sheaf of papers. He handed it down to Mike, along with a pen from his desk. "Take this questionnaire out to the bar and fill it out for me. While you do that, I'm going to make some phone calls."

Mike opened his mouth, but Payne cut him off before he could speak.

"One of those calls will be to Harvey. Don't argue with me, or you can leave right now.   Once I get some questions answered, and review your responses on that form, I'm make my decision. You should know that if I agree to give you a tryout, your first scene will be with me." He crossed his arms and smiled. The charming dimple which dented his cheek did nothing to soften the icy hardness in his pale eyes. "Would you say Jake had a...vigorous touch? And can be wickedly creative? Well then, it might interest you to know that much of that he learned from me."

That piece of information should have been enough to send Mike fleeing. Instead, his breath quickened and his dick twitched and began to swell. Because… _stupid dick._

“Still interested?” asked Payne.

“Uh, sure. Yes. Yes, sir.”

“All right. Get moving.”

Mike got moving.

 

******

 

The questionnaire Payne gave Mike turned out to be nearly identical to the one Mike had filled out for Harvey weeks earlier, although this one was perhaps more extensive. His preferences and limits hadn’t changed much since then, except that he was surer about certain things than he’d been before.  There weren’t many hard limits, aside from bestiality, and scat and piercing play. He also wrote “no” next to head shaving, only because he’d tried it once and had looked ridiculous. He hesitated over the line items involving sex – servicing Dom or other, being serviced, and so forth.

Had that been his mistake with Harvey? Had the sex been too intense? Had it perhaps triggered all of those inconvenient feelings? He thought back on all of the other partners he’d had in the past eight years. Even some of the briefest encounters had resulted in mind-blowing sex, so that seemed to argue against the theory of sex-as-love-trigger. He ended up checking yes to those items, but rating them a 3 (out of five) on the scale of how interested he would be.

He stared down at the questionnaire when he was finished, a tickle of nerves fluttering inside his belly. Was he really going to do this? He glanced at the closed office door. What had Harvey said to Payne? Would he be angry? Relieved? At the very least, he was probably irritated to learn that Mike had lied to Rachel about being sick, but maybe he’d give Mike a pass on that, all things considered.

Mike checked his phone and was surprised to discover that it was nearly two o’clock. He’d spent longer on the questionnaire than he’d realized. Should he knock on Payne’s door? No, he decided, he’d show Payne how obedient he would be, and wait out here until Payne was ready for him. He dropped down onto the kneeler by the Docking Station rail and prepared to stay there until he was called back into the office.

So he waited. And waited some more. He must have drifted into an uneasy doze, because when the overhead lights suddenly came on, he jerked awake and blinked rapidly. Across the room, Mel, the bartender, checked when she saw him, and then continued walking his way.

“I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here this early,” she said, stashing her backpack behind the bar. “It’s Mike, right?”

He nodded.

“I take it Les knows you’re here?”

“He does. I’m just waiting for him to finish his phone calls.”

“Okay. Don’t mind me. I’m just going to start getting set up for tonight.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost four.”

That explained the ache in his knees. Even with padding, two hours on his knees was no joke. He frowned, feeling uneasy. Why had Payne left him out here alone for this length of time? Surely those phone calls hadn’t lasted this long. “Maybe,” he said to Mel, “I’ll just go check and see if he’s ready for me.” He stood up, holding the questionnaire.

She shrugged and continued unloading clean glasses from the dishwasher. He heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, “Your funeral,” but chose to ignore it.

He did, however, knock loudly on the door, and waited until he heard the clipped, “Come,” before entering. When he slipped inside, Payne ordered, “Close the door.”

So he stood there, still waiting for the verdict. After half a minute of squirming under Payne’s silent appraisal, he set the questionnaire on Payne’s desk and dropped once more to his knees.

Payne picked up the stapled sheets, and skimmed through them, nodding thoughtfully every so often. When he had finished, he lay them carefully in front of him. “I thought you might have changed your mind and left,” he said finally. “I rather hoped you had.”

Mike felt himself coloring, and if it was partly from embarrassment, it was also caused in part by his sudden irritation. “If you planned to turn me down all along, why couldn’t you just say so up front?”

“Who says I intend to turn you down?”

“Let the mind games begin,” Mike muttered. Exhaustion washed through him, and he began to wish he’d never come here today. Payne seemed to be on the verge of hiring him, though, so he continued, more strongly, “I’ve got the job, then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know what Harvey had to say about you? Or Jake?”

No, he absolutely did not. “I can probably guess.”

“Oh? Then guess. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay. Harvey probably said to tell me to get my ass back to work and stop behaving like an idiot. And Jake? Probably wanted to put his name at the top of the list on my schedule.”

Payne chuckled drily. “Wrong on both counts. Harvey, you may be surprised to hear, said he wouldn’t stand in your way, but he read off a list of members he recommended for you, and then rattled off twice as many names of those he believed would be all wrong for you. At the top of that list was Jake. In fact, Harvey went so far as to threaten to put my teeth down my throat if I let Jake anywhere near you.”

“That’s…not so surprising. We did talk once about how unsuited Jake and I are for one another.”

“Really? I would have assumed exactly the opposite.” He straightened a picture frame on his desk, pulled it closer and and flicked imaginary dust from the top of it. “You haven’t asked what Jake said to me.”

Mike waited, and finally had to prompt him. “So? What did he have to say about my possible new career path?”

Payne’s mouth twitched in a brief, sardonic smile. “He began by cussing me out, rather comprehensively, I might add. Told me I should send you on your way. He followed up with some threats, and actually had the audacity to order me to keep my hands to myself.”

Mike almost laughed. He could just imagine it, even though it made no sense to him. “Why would he do that? Why would he even care?”

“He likes you. He may have referred to you as ‘that clueless little idiot,’ but his affection for you was quite obvious when he said it. More than that, though, I believe he loves Harvey – as a friend, Mike. I’d say perhaps even as a brother, if that didn’t sound too incestuous, given the past nature of their relationship. At any rate, he believes you’re both behaving foolishly. ‘Pigheaded nitwits,’ I believe were his exact words.”

Mike’s brain started to hurt as he tried to work out whatever Payne was trying to tell him. “So…Harvey essentially gave you his blessing, but Jake went ballistic on you, because….” He trailed off, not able to make the connections.

“Because he’s rooting for you and Harvey. And because he believes my intentions toward you are not entirely honorable – or healthy.”

Mike’s brain had gotten hung up on “rooting for you and Harvey,” and almost missed the second part of what Payne had just said. “Wait…what? Unhealthy how, exactly?”

By way of an answer, Payne turned the picture frame he’d been toying with, so that it faced Mike. It contained the photograph of a young man, smiling guilelessly into the camera, with bright blue eyes, dark blond hair, and – Mike expelled a quick breath. Except for the faint five o’clock shadow on the man in the picture, and his slightly fuller lips, he looked remarkably like Mike. “Who is that?”

“He was my partner – and my sub. Joshua. I lost him a few years ago to cancer.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He recollected now that he’d heard Payne mention that name before, and how Mike resembled him. Suddenly, this meeting felt extremely awkward. He watched as Payne scrubbed one finger over the glass, as if trying to clear it of some invisible smudge. He almost hated to ask, but it seemed a crucial question. “You, uh, you know I’m not him, right?”

“Of course I do.” His answer was sharp and immediate, but he softened his tone as he added, “I still mourn him. I’ll never forget him. Put your mind at ease, though. I’m not lost in some fantasy of the past.”

Mike nodded, accepting his answer at face value. “So…where does this all leave me?”

“You’re sure you want to give this a try? If you need some more time to think it over, you can call me later this week.”

“No. I mean, yes. I’ll do it. How soon can I start?”

“How does Friday night sound?”

“My calendar is wide open.”

“Well, then, be here no later than eight o’clock. We’re going to do a scene, you and I, on the main stage downstairs. Nothing sexual. I’ll use your responses on the questionnaire to determine the specifics, and we’ll go over them when you get here. Make sure you’re nice and clean. We’ll give the members a good look at what you have to offer. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Mike ignored the spike of nerves, and the memories of the times things had not gone so well for him at the club. “Yes, sir,” he answered, trying to sound confident and sure, when he was anything but. “If it goes okay…if I’m…good…does that mean I’ll have a job here?

“Yes, Mike. If all goes well, I expect plenty of interest in you. I’ll give you Friday nights, and an additional two nights during the week, your choice. That’s for starters. We could possibly add more hours in the future, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Okay. Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.”

“That’s fine. Now get out of here and let me get some work done. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Yes, sir. See you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Sorry for the weird ending point. I meant to move this farther along this week, but between too much work, and getting a wild hair and deciding to finally figure out how to post something on tumblr, too much energy was expended, so....This is as far as I got.
> 
> I'm not going to spoil the ending, but I will tell you that I'm reasonably sure that there will only be another chapter or two. So I hope some of you aren't too anxious about the apparent direction in which things are headed. (Translation: "DON"T YELL AT ME!!!")
> 
> Oh, did I mention I posted something on tumblr? Only took me a year or two to get around to it. It's just a puny little story, which has a "The End" at the bottom and everything. Look! I can keep it brief! Who knew? My plan is to occasionally post more puny things there as the mood strikes. Gifs may be beyond my capability. The one I attempted today crashed and burned. Repeatedly. If you have an interest in puny things with no pretty moving pictures, it's under jonibeloni. 
> 
> Thanks for rea -- oh, wait, I already said that. So.... Have a great day, y'all!!


	22. Chapter 22

Mike went back to work on Tuesday. He didn't know how things would play out at _Payne,_ and decided it would be prudent to keep his day job for the time being. Harvey already knew what he had planned, so there was no need to lie about that. That didn't mean Mike wished to face him yet. He figured he could stay tucked away in his workroom bunker, and hopefully Harvey wouldn't make things more awkward by seeking him out.

When he exited the elevator in the morning, two maintenance workers were busy removing the "Hardman" from the "Pearson Hardman" on the wall. That improved Mike's mood. Evidently the Van Dyke strategy had worked. Mike wished he could ask Harvey where Charles had ended up, but it simply wasn't an option if he wanted to keep from falling completely apart.

It proved unnecessary. Once Rachel had asked after Mike's health and buried him under a pile of work, she was only too happy to share what she knew. Charles had agreed to check into rehab, and Harvey had kicked in a good chunk of his personal funds to ensure that he went to a top drawer facility. This news set Mike's mind at ease on that one thing, and as he dug into to work, that tiny sliver of optimism helped to keep him focused.

His mood was improved further when he left for the night, and noted the shiny new "Specter" up on the wall. Pearson Specter. It had a nice ring to it. Regardless of how things stood between Mike and Harvey, he was pleased and proud of the other man's success. He felt the urge to stop by Harvey's office and offer congratulations, but couldn't bring himself to do it. And maybe the changes at the firm had Harvey busier than usual, because Mike didn't see him at all for the rest of the week.

He did see Donna on Thursday. She stopped by with paperwork for him to sign. He skimmed the document and discovered that it was in regards to his grandmother's nursing home.

He gave Donna a quizzical look. “They’re writing off my debt.”

“He can read.”

Not for the first time, he wondered why she was so nasty to him, but brushed the thought aside. If he stuck around long enough, he’d have to hash it out with here eventually, but now wasn’t the time. “If I sign this, it says I’m waiving all rights to pursue further legal action against them.”

“That’s pretty standard.”

“But…what legal action?”

“Malpractice. Lapses in care. Overcharging. They’ve got close to a dozen complaints against them pending. That bogus bill you got wasn’t the only one they sent out. They’ve got to pay their legal fees somehow. Not to mention any settlements they might end up owing.”

“Oh. Can I think about it? Is there a deadline?”

“You want to ride that gravy train, huh?”

“What? No. But if it turns out they gave my grandmother substandard care, they shouldn’t be able to get away with it.”

She sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll tell Harvey you’re taking the weekend. Just know that if you refuse to sign, you shouldn’t expect Harvey to handle the case. I doubt Jessica would sign off on it either. You’ll have to go find you own representation.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, and tossed the unsigned agreement aside. “I’m kind of busy here, so….”

Refusing to take the hint, Donna perched on the edge of his desk, swinging her legs. “What the hell did you do to him, anyway?”

“Do to who?” His highlighter squeaked across the page in front of him, nearly tearing it in half.

“Oh, don’t play games. With Harvey, of course.”

“I haven’t even seen him this week.”

“I did warn you it wouldn’t last.” She frowned down at him. “I never expected him to take it so hard, though.”

He desperately wanted to grill her for more information, and to find out exactly how bad Harvey was taking it, and how she could tell. She had to be exaggerating. Harvey wasn’t invested, like Mike was, and couldn’t possibly be suffering with their separation. He decided this was just more of Donna’s mind games.

“Yes,” he finally said tartly, “you did warn me, despite the fact that it is absolutely none of your business.”

Donna slid off his desk. “Everything about Harvey is my business. I make it my business, because that’s what I need to do to be the assistant he needs me to be.” She started to turn away, but changed her mind and faced him once more. “Don’t feel too bad. At least the Harvey you got was sober Harvey. I put up for years with asshole drunk Harvey, and let me tell you, that was no joke.”

“Why? Why did you stay? If you’re as good as both you and Harvey believe you are, why did you stick with him?”

Her mouth twisted, as she appeared to wrestle down some strong emotion she didn’t wish to share with him. “That, new guy, is none of your goddamned business. Get that form back to me by Monday morning.” Her beautiful stiletto-heeled pumps did not allow her to stomp, precisely, but her stiff posture as she hurried out the door conveyed the message well enough.

Mike felt as if he had scored points in whatever strange contest was going on between them, but it didn’t make him feel good, or happy.

 

******

 

Rachel kept Mike busy, and between the scramble to complete all of his tasks, and his pervasive depression about how he’d left things with Harvey, he didn’t spend much time worrying or wondering about what Payne had in store for him Friday night.

Once he got home from work and began to prepare himself, anxiety set in. It didn’t help that the majority of his previous visits to the club had ended in one type of disaster or another. He’d be perfectly safe tonight, he told himself. After all, he’d be with the owner of the club himself. All he had to do was submit and show Payne – and the members, many of whom had witnessed his previous failures – that he could be a good sub.

He studiously ignored the creeping panic caused by the notion of someone other than Harvey giving him orders, and controlling him. This was probably a perfectly normal reaction, he rationalized, and would pass once he got used to the different styles and expectations of the men and woman who might want to pay for his submission. He should feel excited about new experiences. Maybe he would, eventually, but tonight the main thing he was feeling was sad, as if this would signal the final actual, irrevocable end of Harvey and Mike.

 

By the time he was ready to leave, he was running a little late, so he splurged on a cab, and made it to the club with five minutes to spare. He was waved through at the front desk, and after skidding to a stop in front of Payne’s office door, he took a few seconds to catch his breath and compose himself. He knocked and waited for permission to enter.

The door opened and Payne beckoned him inside. He was fully dressed in what seemed like the only suit he owned – or perhaps he had an entire closet filled with identical gray pin-striped suits. “Sit,” he ordered, before Mike had a chance to kneel. They faced one another across Payne’s neat, nearly empty desktop. “No change of heart since we last spoke?”

Mike shook his head decisively. “No, sir.”

“Good.” He looked down at the desk, tapping a mechanical pencil against what Mike recognized as his questionnaire. “I have to say, I found your responses to this quite intriguing.”

“You did?”

“You incline strongly towards both humiliation and pain.”

This was not news to Mike. He nodded noncommittally.

“I’ve geared the scene toward those preferences. We’ll go over the basics now, and you can either agree or offer changes you’d like to see. Keep in mind, this is your audition, both for me, and for the members out there. I don’t want to see a performance, and neither do they – not the ones who may wish to work with you in the future. I want to see true submission. You will refrain from speaking unless asked a direct question. You will obey any and all commands with no hesitation. If you’re not in the proper headspace, I’ll know, and may cut the scene short.”

As if Mike hadn’t been nervous enough already. Payne seemed to be waiting for a response, so he nodded.

“Good. Now here is how it’s going to go out there.

 

******

 

 

Mike knelt with his back to the room. He could hear the low murmur of voices, the click of glasses on tabletops, the muffled rattle of ice cubes. A random word stuck out here and there, or a sharp laugh. Lester Payne had sent him out here on his own, to wait. As instructed, he’d undressed here, on the stage, down to his briefs. In front of him was the St. Andrew’s cross where he would shortly be restrained. A long, narrow table held the instruments that were to be used on him: flogger, leather strap, short single tail, cane. They’d gone over all of this. Mike knew what was coming, and had agreed to it.

He shifted as his knees began to ache on the unyielding wooden surface. He focused on that discomfort, while trying to block out everything else. He regulated his breathing, trying to slow his racing heart, but it kept galloping away in his chest, making it difficult to draw a decent breath. Despite his efforts to keep his mind blank, he couldn’t prevent the thoughts and doubt and worries about what he was doing, which swirled around inside of him and ate away at his confidence.

He was here tonight to offer up for sale what he had previously given freely to Harvey. Payne had explained at length the tricky moral tightrope Mike would be walking between paid submissive, and what the law might consider actual prostitution. Sexual service to his clients was not forbidden, but he’d advised Mike to exercise caution, and make certain that everything was negotiated and spelled out clearly before agreeing to scene with any of the members. Payne himself would be available to mediate if Mike felt the need for it.

Mike had plenty of time to wonder now, as he knelt and waited for Payne to appear, if perhaps Payne should have mediated at the outset of Mike’s contract with Harvey. Would things have gone any differently? It was difficult to imagine another outcome, unless Payne had managed to talk Mike out of the entire course of action.

He heard footsteps behind him, finally, and the crowd volume increased noticeably before quieting down to near silence. Payne approached and stood next to him, facing the room while Mike still faced away.

“Good evening,” Payne began, placing a hand one Mike’s head. “Some of you have already had the pleasure of meeting this sweet boy. For those of you that have not, his name is Mike, and he has asked me to let him join the ranks of my submissives here at _Payne._ Tonight we’ll have a look at what progress he’s made so far. As you can see….” He waved a hand at the table of implements. “He has an intense night ahead of him. But we’ll get to that soon enough.”

Payne walked across the stage and over to the table. Mike could see now that he’d removed his jacket, vest and tie, but still wore the grey trousers and white shirt, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His black shoes gleamed under the overhead lights. “Come here, boy,” he ordered.

Mike tensed, hesitating a fraction of a second before dropping to his hand and knees and crawling across the stage. Payne rewarded him with a few strokes to his head. A second later, Mike stiffened in shock when Payne lifted a leather collar from the table and showed it to him. A silver letter “P” dangled from the buckle, and the front held a small “d” ring, undoubtedly meant for attaching a leash.

“Kneel up,” Payne murmured.

Misgivings flooded through him, but Mike complied. He felt the smooth leather wrap around his neck, tightening slightly as Payne fastened it, and easing again once it was in place. He knew that this was meant as a symbol that he was attached to the club, and would be, in sense, his uniform. Still, it felt as if his heart stopped for a moment, and then started up again in difficult, jarring rhythm. This felt wrong. This had not been explained beforehand. He lowered his gaze, so that Payne wouldn’t see the flash of panic in his eyes.

“Kiss my feet, boy.”

A wave of heat shot through Mike which he recognized as embarrassment. This was familiar, and an almost welcome antidote to his panic. Bending in half, he leaned down to place his lips on Payne’s shoes. The “Good boy,” he received as his reward was spoken quietly enough that he could imagine a different voice speaking the words.

Then a leash was clipped to the collar, and he was made to follow Payne around the stage, crawling, kneeling, and finally standing. He remembered the lessons Harvey had given him in walking at heel, and believed he performed well enough as Payne put him through his paces. Finally, Payne led him over to the cross and removed the leash. He blindfolded Mike, which he had agreed to earlier, guided him into position, and cuffed him to the cross at wrists and ankles. He tugged Mike’s briefs down and left them stretched between his thighs, exposing his bottom to the crowd.

“What’s your color, boy?” he asked in a clear, carrying voice.

“Green, sir,” Mike answered without hesitation.

Moments later, the flogger made its first strike and Mike flinched. He sighed and forced himself to relax, knowing that he needed to find the right headspace or it was going to be a long night. Having Payne begin with the flogger helped. It thudded against his back and buttocks, warming him, stinging slightly. He’d always enjoyed this. Still, something felt off. As opposed to his scenes with Harvey, tonight he didn’t feel the _yearning_ to submit. He wanted to, sure, and wanted to show Payne and the crowd in the room that he was a good, obedient boy.

The problem was that this, with Payne, did not feel natural.

The flogger caught him in an especially tender spot, and he tensed and cried out. Their audience seemed to approve, as the volume in the room rose and fell again. Feeling their energy helped him to relax and ride out long minutes of slow, rhythmic, thudding strikes. He even began to drift a little, and gave a surprised start when the flogging ended and Payne touched his shoulder and spoke into his ear. “Give me your color, boy.”

“Still green, sir.”

“Good.” Mike could feel sudden tension in Payne’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. “Mike, don’t be alarmed. I have to leave the stage for a minute. You’ll be perfectly all right. The room monitors will keep an eye on you while I’m gone.”

Mike lifted his head. The blindfold ensured that he remained in darkness, but he turned his head to one side and then the other, trying to pick out any sounds that would tell him what was happening. Footsteps moved across the stage, away from him, and then down the short set of steps to the floor. After that, the sound of Payne’s progress was absorbed into the general noise of the room. Mike shifted his weight, attempting to get more comfortable, but the way he was firmly bound to the cross made it a pointless effort.

Time stretched slowly. Alone in his darkness, it was too easy to recall the last time he was up here on the stage, mentally preparing himself for Jake’s bullwhip to strike.

How long had Payne been gone? There must be some sort of club emergency. Mike couldn’t imagine any other reason that Payne would allow for the scene to be interrupted. Or maybe, Mike thought, suddenly suspicious, this was all part of the audition, a test to see how patient and well-behaved he could be. He tilted his head to one side and then the other, ordering himself to relax and trust Payne.

Finally, he heard someone climbing the steps and making their way back to him. Payne touched his shoulder, and Mike nodded. “Green, sir.”

He knew what was coming next, but when the leather strap struck his bottom he grunted at the force of the blow. Payne’s slender arms held surprising strength. The strikes didn’t let up, _whishing_ in at a steady, punishing pace. Mike sighed and moaned, sagging and letting the cross take all of his weight. For the first time tonight, this felt right, which reassured him that he’d made the correct choice. He felt himself begin to take flight, but was oddly reluctant to let go completely. He wanted to remain present and feel this, feel every wicked, jarring slap of leather on his tender bottom.

He’d grown hard during the course of the beating, which came as no surprise. He felt a detached sort of disappointment that he wouldn’t be allowed release tonight. That disappointment didn’t prevent him from enjoying every second of what Payne was dealing out to him.

Distantly, he could hear his own moans each time the strap smacked his bottom. He’d lost count, didn’t care, wanted it to go on forever. Eventually, though, Payne stopped, and Mike could hear his labored breathing behind him.

He was offered water, which he drank gratefully. The single tail would be next, he knew. Payne seemed to be taking a long time to get to it, and Mike wondered if he needed the break to regain his strength after the vigorous strapping.

“No whip,” a voice finally muttered behind him.

Mike tried to convince himself it was Payne, and that his voice only sounded strained because of the effort he had just expended.  

Mike knew that voice, though. It was the voice he’d spent the last week trying to get out of his thoughts. His head came up, turning and seeking blindly for the source of the voice. “Harvey?” he whispered. _What the hell?_

“No whip,” the disembodied voice repeated. “I’ll finish with the cane.”

Mike froze at that pronouncement. Harvey, who had refused to use the cane on him even for punishment, intended to use it now? He experienced a split-second impulse to safeword, but quashed it firmly. He might be feeling confused, betrayed, and even angry, but in spite of all of that, he could not bring himself to refuse Harvey again. Perhaps, in part, he _wanted_ to feel this exquisite pain dealt out by Harvey, wanted the anger, wanted to hate him for it.

He gave a choked sob at the possibility that this is exactly why Harvey had stepped in to replace Payne. Maybe he believed this was the only way to completely sever the connection between them, rather like throwing rocks at a stray dog to get him to leave you alone. Whatever the case, Mike wouldn’t stop him. Let him do his worst. He braced himself for the first cut.

Instead of the sharp, lightning strike of the cane, Mike felt Harvey pressed against his back. He was fully clothed. Mike could even feel the cool silk of the tie hanging around his neck, slithering down Mike’s back. Then the slender wood cane touched his shoulder and stroked down his arm. Confusion paralyzed Mike. What was Harvey doing?

The cane slid over his hip, down one side of his leg and up the other side, rising between his legs and making whisper light passes up and down the underside of his erect cock. The tip of the cane teased his balls, and then continued up, circling his belly.

Mike realized he was panting, and was impossibly turned on. He felt the tip brush against first one nipple and then the other. Harvey’s other arm came around him, and his fingertips caught a nipple, pinching it hard and rubbing the cane over it, rough and slightly cruel and perfect. The other nipple received the same treatment. Mike twisted, yanking in vain at his bonds.

The cane continued its upward path, only stopping when it made contact with the leather collar Payne had fastened around his neck. He heard Harvey growl and curse under his breath, and then his long, elegant fingers made quick work of the buckle, unfastening it. Mike felt the leather slide away from his neck, heard it hit the floor a few feet away.

Harvey took a step back, and Mike shivered at the loss of warm contact. Harvey wasn’t done with him yet, not finished with this bizarre version of a caning, or whatever it was meant to be. He touched the tip of the cane to Mike’s neck and slid it down the center of his back, following the line of his vertebrae and causing an involuntary shudder. It slipped between his ass cheeks, tracking his crack, prodding his puckered entrance.

Unable to help himself, Mike let out a sob which he immediately smothered. The cane continued its path down one leg, up the other, and then it paused, resting against the top curve of his ass.

“Is this what you wanted, Mike?” Harvey spoke too softly for anyone but him to hear. “You want to put yourself out here for anyone to take a swing at?”

The barely audible _swish_ should have warned Mike what was coming. It didn’t, and the hot slash of pain across his bottom surprised a scream out of him.

“Answer me,” Harvey grated.

“Fuck you, Harvey.”

The cane lashed him once more, stealing his breath. When he could manage words again, he rasped out, “Are you fucking crazy?”

Harvey hit him again. “Maybe. I think I must be.”

Three more cuts from the cane arrived in rapid succession. “I won’t change my mind,” Mike barely managed to get out past his gasping sobs. “This won’t change anything.”

“I won’t allow it.” _Swish._ “I have a say in what goes on here, and you’ll never have a job in this club.”

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

“I don’t care,” Mike wailed, as the cuts continued unabated. “Maybe I’ll go somewhere else. Maybe I won’t. Whatever you say, whatever you do, however many times you…. _Christ,_ Harvey. Please stop hitting me. It won’t make any difference. I’ll never stop loving you.”

He heard Harvey’s choked sob, and then the muffled clatter of the cane falling to the wood floor. “I’m so sorry, baby,” Harvey gasped. He ripped off the blindfold and went to work on Mike’s restraints. His fingers were too clumsy, though, too slow. “Les! Jake!” he called brokenly. “Help me. Help me get him down.”

Mike felt the press of two more bodies behind him, arms and hands and fingers touching him, unbuckling and freeing him from the cross. He blinked at the sudden light, saw Payne and Jake peering at him, identical concerned looks on their faces. Harvey had hold of him from behind, arms wrapped around his middle, which was fortunate, because without warning, Mike’s trembling legs gave way, and he would have hit the floor it Harvey hadn’t tightened his hold and kept him upright. Once Mike regained his balance, Harvey carefully turned him around so they could face one another.

Harvey looked completely wrecked, face white and pinched with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harvey appeared sorry, but at that moment, Mike was too angry to care. He tore himself free of Harvey’s hands, searching for his clothes, and spotting them where he’d left them, in the far corner of the stage. “Don’t touch me. You’re a fucking piece of work, Harvey,” he raged, no longer caring who heard him, or what they thought of his behavior. He had no more need to prove anything to anyone here.

“I am,” agreed Harvey, following after Mike. “I’m a piece of work, and emotionally constipated, and every other unflattering thing you’ve named me.”

“Kudos for figuring that out.” Mike tugged his briefs back on, and stepped into his jeans, hopping a little as he pulled them on and zipped up. “Thanks for ruining this employment opportunity for me. By the way, I’m quitting your firm, too. Consider this my five minute notice.”

“Mike, just wait for a minute.” He grabbed Mike’s arm, but let go immediately when Mike yanked it away.

“No. Don’t bother. I have options. I’ve decided to become a cook, if you even give a shit.” He jerked his t-shirt over his head, poked his arms through the sleeves. When he pivoted, intent on heading for the stairs, he found himself blocked by a massive wall which it took him a couple of seconds to realize was Jake.

“Mike,” said Jake, “you should listen to what Harvey has to say.”

“Oh, I’ve heard it. I’ve heard plenty, and I’m sorry, but even a dedicated pain slut like me can only take so much.” He tried to push past Jake, which proved to be impossible.

He felt a hand on his back, and whipped around to give Harvey another blast of his temper. It was Payne, though, touching him with a concerned frown on his face. “Let’s all go to my office,” he suggested.

Mike wanted to refuse, but he felt ganged up on and cornered. It wasn’t so much all of the Dom power the three of them were putting out, it was the gentle concern he sensed, all focused on him. His temper collapsed all at once and he nodded mutely. Whatever was going to happen, they’d already created enough of a spectacle in front of the interested audience.

Payne led the way, Mike and Harvey followed, and Jake covered their rear flank. Inside the office, Mike collapsed into one of the plush chairs, ignoring the throb of pain in his newly flogged, strapped and caned posterior. Before anyone else could speak, he held up one hand wearily. “It’s fine. I don’t even care anymore. It seems pretty clear now that this was never going to work out. I just want to go home.”

Payne gazed sternly down at him, arms crossed over his chest. “Regardless of how this ended, you began the scene with me, and I don’t intend to let you out of here without some proper aftercare.” He glanced to either side of him, at Jake, and then at Harvey. “It’s your choice who, Mike, but I insist you pick one of us.”

“First of all, I disagree,” he retorted. “I’m fine. Seeing as how I’m outnumbered, however…” He looked back and forth between the three of them. “Harvey’s the one who blistered my ass. Let’s make him stick around and kiss it better.”

Payne nodded his assent, and after a few seconds, Jake did the same. “We’ll clear out then. If you need anything, dial two on my desk phone and you’ll get Mel. Or text me on my cell phone.” He paused, as if uncertain whether it was really wise to leave them alone together. “Both of you, play nice. Come on Jake.”

Left alone, Harvey and Mike stared at one another, although on Mike’s side it was more of a glare. Harvey looked away first. He gestured toward the couch against one wall. “Would you like to lie down?”

“No,” snapped Mike. His bottom throbbed hotly and he grimaced. “Yes. Do you think Mr. Payne has any of that good lotion in here? That fucking hurt, you asshole.”

“Go take your pants down and I’ll look for it.”

Mike remained annoyed and ungracious, but he really was in a lot of pain, so he did as Harvey asked. After his pants and underwear were off, it felt only natural to strip out of his shirt as well. He found a soft blanket to drape over the leather couch, and by the time Harvey came back with a pump bottle in hand, Mike was lying on his stomach, waiting for Harvey to bring sweet relief.

Several minutes passed with no words spoken between them. Harvey smoothed lotion over Mike’s bottom, and Mike squirmed and enjoyed the feeling – and was grateful that Harvey couldn’t see the raging hard-on that was trapped under his body. Finally, “Thank you,” he said, trying not to sound too grudging.

“Jesus,” Harvey muttered, “don’t thank me. I should never have hit you with the cane. It wasn’t my intention when I went up there. I just....You’re right. I’m an asshole. And I’ll never touch one of those damned things again.”

Mike wasn’t used to contrite, apologetic Harvey. “It actually wasn’t that bad,” he heard himself say, and was immediately annoyed with himself. Infusing his voice with an extra dose of acid, he added, meaning to mock, “So you’re going to call Jake up every time you need to punish me for real?” He blushed, realizing what he’d just said. “I mean, whoever. Whoever subs for you in the future.”

Harvey’s movements slowed and stopped. “How does that feel?”

“Better. I told you. You didn’t hit me that hard.”

“Oh, really?”

“Hardly felt it.”

Harvey huffed out a reluctant sounding laugh. “Somehow I doubt that.” He set the bottle aside and slid down to sit on the floor, repositioning himself so that he and Mike were face to face.

Harvey had such a weird look on his face – part fear and part grim determination – that Mike’s anger began to give way to worry. “What’s the matter with you?” He realized how that had sounded, and tried again, softening his tone. “Has something happened?”

“You could say that.” His gaze skittered away, but returned seconds later. “Fuck it. Mike, I’m just going to go ahead and rip this band-aid off.” An infinitesimal pause. “I love you.”

Mike blinked. “I’m… _what_? Rip off the band-aid? Rip off the fucking band-aid?” He started to sit up, remembered his aching ass, and lay back down. “That is insulting and…and… _a band-aid?_ ”

“I only mean that it’s not easy.” Harvey reached over and flicked Mike’s bangs back, even though they weren’t in his eyes. Mike flinched away, and Harvey sighed. “Anyway, I think you’re missing the point.”

Mike was, he knew he was, but he didn’t know what to say. Maybe it was sub drop, but all of a sudden he was so tired, and wanted to be left alone so he could let go and cry without an audience. “You can’t just say that, Harvey. Not now. I’m out of defenses. I don’t know what to say to you.”

Harvey sighed again. He looked as tired as Mike felt. “Then don’t say anything. It doesn’t require a response. But it’s the truth.” Quiet settled in between them. “Let me take you home with me,” Harvey murmured. “You can sleep as long as you want, and then we’ll talk.”

Mike was seized by a sudden, jaw-cracking yawn. “Will it be a better talk than last time?”

Harvey gave him a sad smile. “Yes. I believe it will. So…is that a yes?”

“Yes.” He thought for a minute. “Do I need to put my clothes back on?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Mike groaned. “You’re a monster.”

“I am.”

Mike closed his eyes, but after a few seconds, he blinked them open again, feeling sleep creeping perilously close. Belatedly, it occurred to him that Harvey had just made a momentous confession, which only just now fully registered. Feeling suddenly shy, Mike hesitantly asked, “Would you say it again?” and almost laughed out loud at the pained expression the request brought to Harvey’s face.

But, “I love you,” he finally got out, grimace and all. He ran a hand down Mike’s back and repeated, voice gentler, “I love you.”

“Hm. Not bad, but it still needs some work.”

Harvey grunted. He struggled to his feet and gathered up Mike’s clothes. “Let me help you with these.”

Mike wanted to protest that he didn’t need any help, but as it turned out, that was a lie. It was nearly a half hour later that Payne let them out the back door of his office, which opened into an alley. Harvey’s car had been parked close by on the street, and when they reached it, Mike crawled into the backseat, positioning himself on his stomach, and did his best not to panic over this unexpected turn of events. This was most certainly not how he had expected the evening to end.

He pretended to doze as he watched Harvey’s profile. He should feel happy. He _was_ happy. Part of him, though, still didn’t believe it was real.

He’d have to see if Harvey’s actions mirrored his words. He wasn’t off to a great start, but they’d just have to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter, but it would have taken perhaps twice as many words to get everything wrapped up. And I ran out of steam. So, one more to go. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos on the previous chapter(s). Have I told you lately how beautiful and wonderful you all are? No? Well, you are.

Back at Harvey's condo, they retired to their neutral corners for the night. Mike didn't have the energy to question Harvey when he directed him to the guest bedroom. Harvey may have confessed his feelings, but underneath the band-aid he'd removed there still appeared to be a sore wound, and Mike needed to rest and regroup before he could begin to deal with that.

Despite his unease about the entire situation, Mike slept well, probably because he hadn't gotten a decent rest during the past week. When he woke up Saturday morning, he lay for a few more minutes in the familiar/unfamiliar bed and considered how to proceed. Pretend last night hadn't happened? Pretend the entire last week hadn't happened? He knew neither were viable options, but the thought of turning back the clock appealed to part of him -- the cowardly part, which dreaded yet another "talk."

But this one would be different, surely? Harvey had made his big declaration. He'd half-assed it a little, that was true, but he'd said the word -- the magical, transcendent, make-it-all-better word. Why wasn't Mike happier, then? Why wasn't he floating in a euphoric fog of, morning-has-broken, first-blush-of-love bliss?

_Am I just incapable of happiness?_

He rejected the thought as quickly as it appeared.   Maybe having someone beat the hell out of you before grudgingly admitting to something they would rather not feel....Well, maybe Mike was entitled to feel confused and ambivalent after a night like that.

So. Another talk, then they'd see where they were. In the meantime, Mike would not be traipsing around naked, or submitting to morning discipline. He had no wish to re-don his clothes from last night, but luckily all of the things Harvey had bought for him were still right where he'd left them. Aiming for "casually devastating," he dressed himself in the faded jeans that hugged his ass just right, and a tight blue v-neck sweater. He slipped his favorite checkerboard Chucks onto his bare feet, and went out to start the coffee.

He half-expected Harvey to make an appearance before the last drop dripped into the pot, but by the time he'd poured himself a mug and settled on the couch, all remained quiet at Harvey's end of the hall. He sighed and let his restless gaze travel around the room, searching for changes, subtle or unsubtle, and finding none. His perusal reached the coffee table, where he spotted his journal.

He picked up the book and riffled the pages, which seemed more well-thumbed than he remembered. He pictured Harvey sitting here, reading Mike's confessions and musings. Running his own thumb over the pages, he let them sift slowly to the last entry. With some surprise, he realized that the entry he was looking at had been written in someone else's handwriting. Harvey's handwriting.

Growing curious, he flipped back and found a week's worth of entries written by Harvey. He glanced at the hallway, and bit his lower lip. Would it be a violation of privacy to read these new entries? Harvey had written them in Mike's journal, and he'd left the book here where Mike could hardly miss it. Coming to the conclusion that he was completely justified, Mike settled himself more comfortably on the couch and started to read.

 

******

 

_It all blew up in my face today...last night, really. This fucking journal._

_No...let’s put the blame where it lies -- my fucking arrogance, and belief in my own infallibility. Haven't I learned that lesson yet, a hundred times over?_

_I actually thought I could divine what Mike needed...what you needed. (You were brave enough to write your thoughts directly to me. I'd be a coward not to do the same, whether or not you ever read this.)_

_I figured I was being such a benevolent God, deciding for you what would make you happy, instead of listening to your own earnest hopes and wishes. Your higher power got a little full of himself, didn't he?_

_I doubt that any more sorries from me would make a difference, but I am sorry. So fucking sorry._

_***_

_I don't think I managed to tell you how that made me feel -- hearing that you loved me, or thought you did. Maybe that's just as well, because -- in no particular order -- my feelings included suspicion, anger, disbelief, terror, humility, and the urge to run as far and as fast as possible._

_I told you my sad little tale of love, but really there's more to it than that._

_I first learned about love from my parents. They loved the shit out of each other -- until they didn't. Then my mom set out to destroy my dad with love -- his for her, and hers for herself. She waged a pretty brutal campaign, and I got hit with some of that "friendly fire." I'll spare you the details, but let's just say I learned that love can either be a weapon, or a vulnerability, depending on which side you're on._

_I think in your case, whether you realize it or not, it's both. You made yourself too vulnerable. And then you blasted a hole right through my chest when you left me. I don't know what that means, or what my heart is feeling right now, because it's just a mess of charred, smoking embers at the moment. I can't feel anything. You did that._

_That must mean something._

_Shit. I wish I could drink away this aching emptiness._

_I hate this._

_***_

_First of all, I'm glad you called me from the Holiday Inn. You do have a knack for saving the day lately. If I've never told you how amazing you are, I apologize, because you truly are a goddamned miracle._

_***_

_Talk number two went about as well as talk number one, huh? Maybe if I'd had more than a day to get my head together -- or to get my heart back in working order -- I might have acquitted myself better._

_You had to call me out, though, didn't you? Just -- BAM -- right in the face. That's so like you. Lead with the heart and damn the consequences._

_I wanted my answer to be different. You have no idea._

_You deserve better than a closed off, cold sonofabitch like me._

_You deserve everything._

_***_

_I miss you._

_I can't sleep without your warm weight next to me._

_My hand misses the sharp sting that comes when I spank your ass. Is that terrible? Strange that I can feel so tender toward someone to whom I spent most of our time together dealing out pain. I don't regret a second of it._

_I miss the sounds you make....Your throaty grunts when I have you gagged, or you're gagging on my cock. Your screams when you give in and let yourself go...when you let the pain possess you. I can think of few things more beautiful, except perhaps your wild howls when you come so hard...._

_Is that love?_

_Is missing someone love? Or is it a particular type of selfishness?_

_I don't know anything anymore._

_***_

_I need to get a new phone. After Les called me, my old phone shattered into dozens of pieces against the far wall._

_You little fool._

_The worst thing is, I no longer have the right to tell you no, or to punish you for making such a colossally stupid mistake. At this moment, I long to bend you over the back of my couch and strap you until I can't lift my arm any longer._

_The really fucked up thing is that I deserve the punishment more than you do. Even as my chest felt like it was cracking open, I gave you my blessing, gave Les my blessing, and supplied him with a list of names -- the same list you refused to take from me. I'd like to visit every man on that list and warn them off...threaten them, or offer them money to stay away from you._

_I know I have to let you go, to move past this, before it wrecks me completely._

_Fuck you for doing this to me. Fuck you for getting under my skin like this, for slipping past my defenses. Why did you have to show up at my meeting that night? Why kind of fucked up twist of fate was that?_

_Jesus Fucking Christ._

 

******

 

The last words of the entry were barely legible, gouged deep into the page. Mike sat back, exhaling sharply. He wasn't sure when he'd started crying, and he wiped impatiently at his eyes.

Reading this fucking _hurt_ , and he wanted to stop, or throw the book across the room, but somehow Harvey had gotten from _this_ \-- from railing at Mike and fantasizing about the pain he would dish out in retribution for going to Lester Payne -- to his admission last night. As much as Harvey's pain affected him, Mike remained deeply curious as to how that transformation had happened.

Holding the open book against his chest, Mike carried his mug to the kitchen for a refill, and then resumed his seat, took a deep, fortifying breath, and continued reading.

 

******

 

_I've worked towards this day for years. This morning, I watched my name go up on the wall. It was the culmination of so much work and sweat and, yes, scheming and planning. This was the goal. The prize._

_And I felt nothing._

_It felt about as exciting as buying a new pair of socks. Less exciting. Oh, I managed to put on a good face for Jessica, and to gloat a little for Louis, because that's what everyone expected. It was all for show._

_The person I wanted to share this milestone with wasn't there. Or I should say you were there, back at work (did you think I wouldn't keep tabs on you?), but you may as well have been a million miles away from me. It's trite, and it's cliché, but it turns out, it's the absolute truth: if you have no one to share it with, what the hell is it worth? What in the hell is any of it for?_

_I'm praying Jake is back from Toronto, because I need him tonight._

_***_

_Shit, I'm tired. It's only Wednesday, and Friday feels like it will never get here. I haven't resented this job so much since those weeks after I first stopped drinking._

_Jake got me through last night. I can still feel his marks on my backside. He thinks I have feelings for you that I refuse to admit. He really went hard at me too. What a hypocrite. Jake is the king of repressed feelings. Just try to get him to admit that, though._

_***_

_So...say I do have feelings for you. Aside from, you know, lust and affection and frustration. How does that even work?_

_Do I write you a syrupy sonnet? Send you ridiculous, impractical mountains of flowers? Grab a guitar and sing underneath your window?_

_Sext you?_

_This situation is what heavy drinking was invented for, I think. To give one courage. To drown the inevitable sorrows and disappointments. Falling off the wagon might be worth it for the numbness._

_I'm not admitting...anything. This is all hypothetical. I am_ not _turning into some emo teenager._

_I am not in love with you._

_I am not coming to_ Payne _on Friday night to rescue you from yourself, or some stupid shit like that. You made your choice and now you can goddamn live with it._

_End of story._

 

******

 

It wasn't the end of the story, though. Mike grabbed a quick sip of his cooling coffee and flipped to the next page -- and then gave a guilty jump when he heard a floorboard creak just before he saw Harvey in his peripheral vision, gazing down at him from the end of the couch.

"Um," said Mike, and started to close the book.

"No. Please finish. I wrote it for you, after all."

Harvey didn't sound angry. He didn't sound happy, but he didn't sound angry. As Mike studied him, his expression gave nothing away, an impeccable poker face.

"Okay," Mike finally replied. "I was nearly done anyway."

Harvey went to the kitchen for coffee, and took the seat across from Mike.

 

******

 

_Jake has threatened to line up to be your first client if I don't accompany him tomorrow tonight to witness your "audition." He’s such a bastard. I guess I'll be there after all._

_I don't know what's going to happen. I may murder Les. Or Jake. I may murder you. I may drink myself stupid._

_I may be the cold-hearted coward I've always been and not do a damn thing._

_***_

_Mike. This is crazy. All these fucking feelings have chased me around and around and backed me into a corner. Why is this so hard? Shouldn't this be easy? People fall in love every day. Complete, clueless idiots fall in love. Monsters...narcissistic creeps...horrid, horrid people fall in love like it's the simplest thing, and I can't even..._

_Just the thought of committing this to writing makes me want to throw up._

_***_

_I love you._

_***_

_Ugh._

_Fuck it._

_I love you._

_There. Done. I'm a dead man._

 

******

 

Mike closed the journal, set it on the coffee table next to his mug and gave Harvey a long, level look. “Wow,” he said. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. A little bit sick. A little bit confused. A whole lot sad, and tender, and hopeful. “I thought I had a challenging life, but the world really did a number on you, didn’t it?”

Harvey couldn’t quite meet his gaze. His jaw was tight, and his hands held the arms of the chair in a death grip.

Mike stood slowly and moved over to kneel next to Harvey. He placed a hand on his thigh, feeling densely knotted muscle. He rubbed his hand in circles until the muscle began to relax, and the minute twitches lessened and then ceased. He kissed Harvey’s knee through his pajama pants, and lay his head on it. “You don’t look like a dead man,” he finally observed.

A non-verbal grunt from Harvey.

“It’s going to be okay, you know,” he whispered into Harvey’s leg. “Just look at me. I said the dreaded words a week ago, and I’m still alive and kicking. Welcome to the club.”

It took at least another minute of silence, but when Harvey’s hand settled on his head, it felt like victory.

“Just tell me one thing,” said Mike, “one word. Yes or no. And then we can table this whole discussion and get on with our lives, one way or another.”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t asked the question yet.”

“You were going to ask if I meant it. The answer is yes.”

Mike breathed out slowly, his tension and grief beginning to bleed away. “Then can we start this day again? I mean, start it the right way?”

Harvey’s fingers dug into his scalp, kneading and soothing, making him shiver. “The right way?”

Instead of answering, Mike got to his feet and pried off his shoes. He yanked off the sweater and threw it in the general direction of the guest bedroom. Gazing steadily at Harvey, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and peeled them off, along with his briefs, before sending the crumpled wad of clothes the same way as the sweater.

“I’ll demand a bit more tidiness and care for your clothes in the future,” murmured Harvey. His eyes, though, held the tiniest spark of humor.

“And you’ll get it. For now, you owe me about a week’s worth of morning discipline.”

Harvey winced. “Even after last night?”

“We’re starting again, remember?” He waited, but Harvey didn’t move. “It’ll be easier if you sit in your usual spot.” He nodded toward the couch.

He thought Harvey might refuse, maybe rebuke him for being a pushy sub, but he finally got up and moved to the center of the couch. Feeling as if his heart was expanding and growing lighter, Mike draped himself across Harvey's lap and held onto the arm of the couch, shoving a pillow under his head. _Home,_ he thought, _this is home._

Harvey rested his hand on Mike’s back, but that was all.

“Harvey?”

Instead of striking him, Harvey cupped his bottom with one hand, stroking slowly, thumb dipping between his cheeks to brush against his entrance. Mike opened his mouth to question him, but found he couldn’t speak. Harvey bent over to kiss Mike’s shoulder. He kissed a damp trail down Mike’s back, until the angle became too awkward. He did spank him then, bringing his hand down on Mike’s bottom in a quick, light slap that turned into another caress.

Mike grinned into the pillow. “Out of practice?” he teased breathlessly.

“No.” The word sounded choked. He spanked Mike again – if you could even call it that – four quick pats, as soft and delicate as the flap of a butterfly’s wing. Then, "Turn over,” he rasped.

Mike rolled onto his back, and let Harvey rearrange them. He moved out from under Mike and settled on top of him with one leg wedged between his. His fingers traced Mike's collarbone, like slow, crawling spider steps, as he kissed Mike’s jaw, sighed, and pressed his forehead to Mike’s cheek. Mike’s arms crept around his Harvey’s waist, and they lay there, connected and unmoving.

“That was only five,” Mike finally whispered.

“Hm?”

“Five swats. I get to choose a new privilege.”

Harvey shifted, rubbing his thigh against Mike’s hardening dick. “Name it.” The words vibrated against the side of Mike’s face.

“Okay. This is with the understanding that we’re not done here, right now.”

“Done?”

Mike slid a hand between them, down Harvey's pants, and palmed Harvey’s cock. “I’m just saying, it sort of feels like this is leading somewhere.” He worked his thumb back and forth underneath the tip. “Am I wrong?”

In answer, Harvey kissed him. His lips – soft, firm and perfect – took Mike’s. The tip of his tongue licked across Mike’s front teeth and Mike drew him into his mouth, sucking hard and moaning in the back of his throat. He cupped Harvey’s ass with his other hand, squeezing, feeling his muscles flex in response.

Harvey lifted his head. “Mm. You’re not wrong,” he said in an impossibly sexy voice, grinding his hips against Mike’s.

All thoughts of new privileges flew out of Mike’s head. “Can we…” he managed. “Bed?”

“Veto. Too far.”

“Condoms?”

Harvey groaned as if he was in pain. “Just like this. Need you now.” He helped Mike drag his pajama pants down past his hips, and leaned up, creating enough space between them so he could gather both of their cocks into one hand. It was a handful, so, “Help me,” he panted.

Mike joined one of his hands with Harvey’s, and together they jerked themselves off, lubricating their cocks with pre-come. It was messy, and frantic, and over too soon, but Mike never closed his eyes, and was rewarded with the sight of Harvey tipping his head back and _growling_ as his hips stuttered and he sent thick ropes of cum over both of their hands and bellies.

When Harvey finally looked back down at Mike and breathed, “Come for me baby,” Mike’s body responded immediately, back arching, throat erupting with a sharp, joyous shout.

When both of their aftershocks had receded and stopped, Harvey rolled them over, so that Mike lay on top of him. He wrapped him up in his arms, and neither spoke for a long while.

 

“I’ll make us some breakfast,” Mike said eventually. He was hungry, and he’d heard Harvey’s stomach grumble beneath him more than once.

“Let’s go out.” But Harvey tightened his hold, as if he really would rather not move from the couch.

“I’ll make waffles.”

“Hm. I do like your waffles.” Harvey opened his eyes and gave Mike a searching look, brow furrowing. “Mike, were you serious last night? About wanting to become a cook?”

“Ah. In that precise moment, I was dead serious. There’s an opening at Clifford Danner’s diner. It’s not exactly my dream job, though.”

“Good. You’re staying at Pearson Specter.” Harvey's mouth stretched into the most natural grin Mike had ever seen on his face, cheeks creasing, and the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively. “Pearson Specter. Do you like the sound of that? I fucking love the sound of that.”

“Yeah, I do. I wanted to tell you this on Tuesday, when I first found out, but congratulations, Harvey. You deserve it.”

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say my name. Or rather, my firm’s name.”

Mike rolled his eyes and pulled away, feeling dried cum tug at his groin area. “Is this going to get you hard all over again?”

“We won’t know until you say it.”

“Pears – ”

“Wait, wait. Take your time. Say it nice and slow.”

First Mike had to gain control of incipient giggles. He took a deep breath, gazed into Harvey’s eyes, and dropping his voice to a lower register, purred, “Pearson Specter.”

“Oh, yeah baby. Do it again.”

This time, Mike whispered the name. “Pearson Specter.” He stuck a finger in his mouth, trying to look seductive.

Harvey laughed. “Fucking cock tease.” He grasped Mike’s hips, guiding him up and to his feet. “Let’s take a shower. Then you can make us some waffles, and practice calling me Harvey Reginald Specter, Esquire, and we’ll see where the day takes us.”

“Reginald?”

“Careful….”

Somehow, it fit him, Mike decided.

 

Hearing his firm's new name did, as it turned out, have a restorative effect on Harvey. He fucked Mike with near brutal intensity against the side of the shower, water pulsating against their backs, his fingers digging into Mike's hips, and teeth grazing his shoulder before he came with his mouth pressed to the side of Mike’s neck, sending the vibrations of his muffled shouts down Mike's back, all the way to his feet.

“You,” said Harvey, later, as he was drying Mike off, “won’t come again until tonight.”

Mike hid his smile, happy that Harvey was getting his Dom groove back. He didn't mind waiting. It was always better when Harvey made him wait for it.

“And I’ve decided what your newest privilege will be.”

“Wait. I thought I got to choose.”

Harvey ignored his protest. “This one’s pretty big. You may want to take some time to think about it.” He turned Mike around, so that he was facing away from Harvey, and began toweling his hair dry.

“Do I get to top you?”

That caused Harvey to freeze for half a second. “No. I mean, that’s not the privilege I had in mind. If that’s something that interests, you, though, I'm not opposed. I'll set it aside for a future reward.”

Mike’s mouth went dry as his mind immediately got busy picturing it.

“Mike. Focus. This is important.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“In fact, let’s get dressed first.”

 

Ultimately, Harvey decided to wait until after breakfast to tell Mike what he had decided. When the breakfast dishes were washed and put away, and they moved back to the living room, he offered to let Mike sit, but he preferred to kneel beside Harvey. He'd spent a week without this, and his heart needed it.

"I don't think I ever told you," Harvey began, "but I owe my entire career to Jessica Pearson."

Mike frowned, confused about where this was headed.

"I was working in the mail room at Gordon, Schmidt, Van Dyke, and she saw something in me that made her believe it would be worth it to send me to law school. To Harvard."

That made Jessica's remark about Harvey being an investment make more sense. "That couldn't have been cheap."

"Oh, it's paid off for her.   I've repaid her, many times over, both by making a shit ton of money for her firm, and by giving her my complete loyalty."

"It worked out well for both of you. But what does this have to do with....?" Suddenly, he understood. "Harvey, I told you Harvard's not an option for me."

"Exactly how hard did you fight that ban? I thought so. I'm going to look into that for you. If it still proves to be an impossibility, there are other options closer to home, which, frankly, I would prefer."

"I'm fucked at Columbia too, remember?"

"There's also NYU."

"True, but after I graduated, I wouldn't get to work with you."

"Harvard is a tradition at the firm, not a rule. Plus, I'm a named partner now, remember? I can pull strings."

"But...I don't even know if I want to become a lawyer. Or if your firm would be a good fit for me."

"Then stick around for a while working for Rachel, and draw your own conclusions. I'm only making you the offer, Mike. You're the one who has to ultimately decide what is right for you."

Mike wanted to say yes, but...."What if this, between you and me, ends up not working out? Do you pull the plug on school too?"

"Baby, I can't see into the future. I'm in this, though, with my whole heart, as inferior as it may be. As for the offer of tuition, that's a business decision. There will be a contract, all nice and official."

That sounded reassuring. Mike shuffled a little closer to Harvey's leg. "And what do you get in return for your investment? My first born? Seven years of indentured servitude?"

Harvey reached down to touch Mike's shoulder. "Only seven years if you're lucky. That's just called being an associate. But, yes, you would be required to come work at Pearson Specter after you graduate and pass the bar. Except for the long hours and tough bosses, it's not exactly a hardship. We offer one of the most generous salary and benefits packages for first year associates for any firm in the country."

"Along with those insane hours you mentioned, and constant abuse from Louis and the other partners." He didn't object to any of that on principle, but he wanted Harvey to know he wouldn't be going into this blind.

"Yes, along with that. It's called paying your dues. We all went through the same thing."

Mike tamped down the urge to crawl into Harvey's lap and show him how happy this offer made him.   "I'm strongly leaning toward 'yes,' but I'd still like a couple of days to think about it."

"Good. That's smart." His expression shuttered briefly. "There is something else you need to know."

Mike looked at him expectantly.

"I believe there is another way for you to get your tuition, without being beholden to me or the firm."

"Okay. I'm listening."

"Did Donna give you a document to sign regarding your grandmother's nursing home?"

Mike had actually forgotten about it, but he nodded warily.

"Don't sign it, sue them instead, and I can practically guarantee you a sizable settlement from them. Probably enough for at least the first couple of years of school."

Although he hadn't given it a thought since Donna handed him the papers, Mike's response was immediate. "No. I wouldn't mind seeing those assholes suffer a little, but I think that for me, it's more important to just let go of the past. I mean, I could let all the shitty stuff that's happened to me continue to rule me, and taint my life, but I'd rather look forward. My past will always be a part of me, but I want to make it a foundation, not an anchor. Does that make sense?"

Harvey nodded solemnly. "I think I understand."

Mike kissed Harvey's leg. "So that's the privilege I earned this week? A full ride at Harvard, or whichever fallback school will take me? That's slightly more than I was going to ask for."

"And what was that?"

Mike laughed nervously. "Just to be allowed to sleep in your bed every night. I know I had been, but it was never official or anything."

"No," said Harvey, but his half-smile game him away. "That's not a privilege. That's a demand and a requirement."

"Good," said Mike. "That's good."

Harvey stood up. "Now, go put on some clothes. I think it's time to see if you remember how to operate a clutch."

Mike groaned, but he didn't think he could be any happier than at that moment.

 

******

 

After a heart-stopping two hours behind the wheel, Harvey let Mike pull over and park, and they got out to have lunch at a deli on Lexington Avenue that Harvey swore made the best pastrami sandwiches anywhere. Mike knew of a couple of places in Brooklyn that could give it a run for its money, but he did concede that the sandwiches were damn good.

He licked a gob of brown mustard off his thumb and finished his iced tea. "I want to hear what happened between that last journal entry of yours, and when you got up on stage and crashed my audition."

Harvey looked uncomfortable. He threw down his crumpled napkin and seemed to have to force himself to look Mike in the eye. "I suppose I owe you that. First off, I stalled Jake as long as I could. He finally showed up at my place and appeared prepared to sling me over his shoulder and carry me out if I refused to accompany him."

Mike was glad that he'd finished eating, otherwise he might have choked at that image. "Do you think he would have actually done it?"

Harvey rolled his eyes. "It's one of his patented 'moves'." He made air quote as he spoke the last word. "Anyway, I followed him to _Payne_ in my car. We got there a little late. You'd already started."

Mike studied the play of emotions across Harvey's face -- anger, grief, loss. He waited for Harvey to continue, and finally prompted, "And? I remember that Mr. Payne left me up there by myself for a few minutes. Why did he let you on the stage? Why not just stop the scene?"

"Oh, he wanted to end it. He probably would have, but Jake urged him not to. Les wouldn't have listened to anyone else. Jake, though...he's got great instincts. Still...it may not have been the best choice. I was stone cold sober, but I felt disconnected. My head was fucking spinning. I couldn't think straight." He gave a low, rough laugh and stared down at the table. "I felt like I was drunk, or high. My only clear thought was that I had to stop you, whatever it took. I know I went too far. I was out of control. I wasn't even beating you, really. I was at war with the whole notion of falling in love."

Mike reached over and placed his hand on top of Harvey's. "What made you stop?"

"You did. You told me that nothing I did would make any difference to how you felt, and I finally realized that the same went for me. I could cane you, or strap you, or curse Fate and all the gods for bringing you into my life, but none of that would prevent me from feeling the way I did." He shrugged. "At that point, it was all over."

"And you...lost?"

Harvey's gaze shot up to meet Mike's. "No. Fuck, no, sweetheart." He interlaced their fingers and raised Mike's hand to his mouth for a soft kiss. "I won. I probably don't deserve it, but I definitely won big."

Harvey's words left Mike momentarily speechless. Somehow, it was easier to accept a prolonged beating from Harvey, than to hear such a sweet, sentimental pronouncement. He glanced around the crowded deli and briefly considered leaning in and murmuring to Harvey that he loved him, just to see if he would react better this time. It was such a nice moment, though, that he didn't want to risk ruining it by sending Harvey into another existential tailspin. So he settled for, "I know the feeling," and was rewarded by the flash of warmth in Harvey's beautiful eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is...the final chapter. *SNIFF* I am so sorry it took so long. My life turned into an expert level game of Whack-a-Mole, and too many of my moles did not get whacked in a timely manner. But...BAM!! Take that, ya stupid mole. Consider yourself whacked! (Insert jokes about whacking off and getting whacky....)

Mike did his best not to fidget as he sat next to Harvey at the meeting. It wasn't easy, as he was, imagining all the possibilities for tonight. Harvey had promised to make him come, but had given no hint as to how that would happen. Being preoccupied in imagining various scenarios, he didn’t see the two men at first. When he did, they were halfway down the rows of chairs.

“No fucking way,” said Mike, more loudly than he’d intended. But really, how else was he supposed to react to the sight of Jake escorting David into the meeting, with one huge hand clamped onto the back of his scrawny neck? “Did you know about this?” he asked Harvey.

“Jake may have mentioned it to me.”

“Wow." He studied them, noting the tension in both of their bodies, even Jake’s, which he believed to be a first. It appeared that they were still getting used to one another. "What do you think? Who do you think regrets it the most? Jake or David?”

Harvey choked on a laugh. By then, the two men in question had reached their row. Following Harvey's lead, Mike moved over to make room for them.

“I heard that, brat.” said Jake. “And I think the answer is obvious.”

Mike couldn’t prevent the bark of laughter that burst out of him. “David. Definitely David.”

“That’s hurtful,” said Jake, with an unconvincing pout.

“Sorry,” Mike lied. He looked past Jake at David. “Hey,” was all he could think of to say in greeting. It wasn’t as if they’d had a good relationship in the short time they’d known one another.

“Mike,” he responded, sullen and guarded.

Mike shot a questioning look at Harvey, who nodded his reassurance. The meeting began, and a few minutes later, Mike was surprised once more when David was the first to go up to the front of the room. This had to be Jake's influence, since Mike had never seen him get up to speak before.

"One week sober, bitches," he announced, pumping both fists in the air, as if he had just won the Olympic gold medal in sobriety. "And the crowd goes wild."

The crowd did not go wild, although Mike did see some reluctant smiles in the room.

"Yep. It’s been a crazy ride. That guy right there -- " He stopped and pointed at the back of the room, straight at Mike. "That little shit nearly got me killed, but, hey, it's all good. Things worked out for me. And _that_ guy -- " Now his finger moved over to point at Jake. "He is a total badass, even if he is also a major pervo."

Jake's chin dropped to his chest and he slapped a hand over his face.

"Oh. Oops. I probably shouldn't say that. Jake's a great guy, though. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but the guy makes art. Little statues and drawings and shit. Super cool stuff. He's probably got a website or something. Help him out. Jake? You on Etsy? Ah. Okay. Enough with the commercial, right? He's more than just a talented artist, he's a great sponsor. And a great motivator. The best. He motivated the fuck out of me just before we got here, and....What?"

Jake was making frantic motions, mostly involving a single finger drawn across his throat.

"Oh, wow. Guess I'm getting the hook. All right. Seriously, though. Hit him up on Facebook. Throw a little love his way. Later, bros."

"Harvey," whispered Jake, "if I kill him, will you represent me in court?"

 

 

After the meeting, the four of them convened on the sidewalk outside of the building.

"Just a straight trade," said Jake, addressing Harvey and appearing completely serious. "Mike for David."

Harvey draped his arm over Mike's shoulders and pulled him closer. "Not a chance."

David poked Jake in the shoulder. "Dude, you should have seen your face in there. Priceless."

Growling, Jake grabbed David's wrist in one hand, and clamped his other on the back of the boy's neck. "We are going to revisit the cane if you can't get command of your mouth." He pulled on the short hairs at the back of his neck, which Mike knew from experience hurt like a bitch.

David only laughed, drawing his shoulders up to his ears and tipping his head to the side. "That tickles, man." Jake smacked the back of his head and he stopped squirming. Now David looked at Mike. "Guy can't keep his hands off of me. You know what I'm talking about. And that cane, right? I mean, I'm all like, 'Please, sir, gimme some more of that.' And he's all like -- ouch."

Jake slapped the back of his head again.

"See what I mean? I _love_ this guy."

Mike was speechless. Was David serious?

_Help me,_ mouthed Jake.

"We have to go," said Harvey, steering Mike towards the car.

"Will we see you at the club later?" Jake called after them.

"Not tonight. You're on your own."

They had agreed to stay out of _Payne_ for a week, maybe more. They hadn't had the best of luck during their recent visits there. Mike turned back for one more look, and saw David dancing around Jake like a hyperactive puppy.

"That's...interesting. Them together, I mean. I can't decide if it's a trainwreck in progress, or a match made in heaven."

Harvey got behind the wheel and waited for Mike to take the passenger seat. "Let's split the difference and call it a match made in hell."

 

"Go get undressed and wait for me in bed," Harvey instructed when they got home. Mike did as he’d been told, and Harvey joined him moments later. "Get in the middle. On your back.”

Using the soft rope he favored, Harvey tied Mike's arms and legs to the bed, so that he was spread-eagled, with only a small amount of slack.

"Are you comfortable?” Mike nodded. “Good. I'm going to be in the bathroom for a little while. If you experience any difficulty, just call out my name, or your safeword. I'll hear you."

Mike was curious, but knew better than to ask. He tested his bonds, because he liked the way they felt, not because he doubted Harvey's skill in tying knots.

Harvey was gone for nearly half an hour. Behind the closed door, Mike could hear water running, silence, the toilet flushing, and briefly, the shower, followed by another long silence.

When Harvey reappeared, he was naked. He stopped in the doorway and just stared at Mike for nearly a full minute, gaze traveling up and down his bound form. “You look good like that,” he said.

“Ditto,” said Mike, blushing a little and lifting his head as he took in every inch of his Dom’s appearance.

Harvey nodded once, and advanced. “No more talking, please.” He sat on the side of the bed and placed a hand on Mike’s calf. “Tonight, we’re starting again. Tomorrow we can go over the particulars of how we’ll go forward, but tonight is just about us, about you and me and how good we can make each other feel.” He wrapped one hand loosely around Mike’s cock and started stroking slowly up and down.

Mike groaned and lay back, relaxing into the mattress, but lifted his head again almost immediately when Harvey leaned in and took the head of his cock into his mouth. He sucked gently, and used his tongue to tease the underside. Then his head eased down, engulfing Mike’s cock. It felt wonderful, and the privilege of watching him only made it that much better.

Harvey met his gaze, and his eyes darkened just before he pulled off, causing Mike to groan in disappointment. Harvey grabbed two pillows and pushed them under Mike’s back and neck. Now he could look his fill without getting a stiff neck. He gave Harvey a short nod to express his gratitude.

Harvey went back to work on Mike’s cock, licking and sucking and teasing, while Mike watched and gasped and moaned and memorized every millimeter of Harvey’s face. Harvey’s technique was superb, which came as no surprise. More than the physical sensations, however, Mike felt overwhelmed with an expanding sense of joy which couldn’t be contained inside his chest. “Harvey,” he groaned, when he swallowed him whole once more. “God. Ah… _god_.”

_I love you so much._

He didn’t speak the words out loud, but maybe Harvey read his thoughts, because his gaze shifted to Mike’s, even as he continued to suck and slurp. Slowly, he lifted his head, snaking his tongue wetly up Mike’s hard length. He picked up a condom and ripped open the foil wrapper. Anticipating the mouth-watering sight of Harvey sheathing himself, Mike felt a jolt of shock when instead, Harvey rolled the condom carefully down Mike’s cock and tugged it into place.

“What….” breathed Mike before recalling he wasn’t supposed to speak. But…what was even happening right now?

With a lube-smeared palm, Harvey stroked Mike’s stiff cock, expression intent and focused. Finally, his dark eyes lifted. “I’m going to fuck myself on you,” he murmured, just his thumb rubbing up and down now as he held Mike in a loose fist. “Do you like the sound of that?”

Mike nodded rapidly, even though it was clear that his cock loved the idea.

“Good, because I’m stretched and loose and ready for you.”

Mike’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he gave a heartfelt groan, picturing Harvey fingering himself open. That explained all the time Harvey had spent in the bathroom. Mike groaned again when Harvey lifted up and positioned himself over Mike’s cock. The groan turned to a whimper as Harvey braced one hand on Mike’s shoulders for support and lowered himself, using his other hand to guide Mike’s cock into his body. He didn’t pause, or take it in stages, just pressed down until he rested against Mike’s groin. Mike could feel Harvey’s thighs trembling as he made his controlled descent.

He was so tight. It must have been ages since he’d taken a cock. His channel squeezed so deliciously that Mike grunted with the effort of not coming right at that instant. “Jesus,” he whispered roughly, feeling sweat bead on his forehead.

Then Harvey began to move, and all Mike could do was stare and wish he possessed a few more sets of eyes to take it all in at once: The broad shoulders, pale as milk and dotted with moles. The strong arms corded with muscles, effortlessly maintaining balance. The round, muscular ass and thick thighs, bunching and rocking, raising and lowering, and – _oh sweet Christ –_ the sight of Mike’s cock disappearing into Harvey. And the sound…the wet sucking sound of the lube and the latex and damp, musky flesh.

Mike was experiencing sensory overload. It was already almost too much, and then Harvey sped up. He pounded down onto Mike, making breathless sub-verbal noises mixed in with an occasional _yeah,_ or, _come on,_ which deteriorated further into rhythmic grunts. Mike’s hands curled into fists and his neck arched, pressing his head back into the pillows. He jerked unthinkingly at his bonds.

“Harvey,” he panted, “I can’t. I’m gonna. Please. Please say I can come.”

Instead of answering immediately, Harvey grabbed his own cock in one hand and began a frantic stroking, somehow maintaining his punishing pace. Watching Harvey's face, Mike nearly forgot his own urgent need. Harvey gazed directly at him, not breaking eye contact, and what Mike saw there robbed him momentarily of breath. In that moment, he could have sworn that something hot and sharp and stabbed him in the chest, and he cried out softly.

"Come, baby," Harvey murmured.

Mike took a gulp of air. Harvey's eye's slid halfway shut, his hand a blur on his cock, even as his hips stuttered and froze.   He gasped Mike's name, his entire body shuddering as hot cum hit Mike's belly and chest and neck. His channel tightened around Mike's cock, and that did it.

Mike’s entire body tensed, and he felt frozen on the peak of a mountain. Harvey moved his hips and Mike took flight, howling out his joy and release, his back bowed as far as it would go, and his eyes squeezed shut.

The next thing he was aware of was his hoarse, raw throat, and Harvey lying atop him, sweaty forehead touching Mike’s, and his hands underneath them, clutching Mike’s bottom to keep them tightly together. Harvey breathed harsh and hotly in his ear, clearly still winded from his exertions.

“So good, baby,” Harvey panted faintly, as another shudder rippled through him.

_Ditto,_ thought Mike, lacking the energy to speak aloud.

They lay joined together for a while longer, and then Harvey collected himself enough to lift off, remove the condom from Mike, tie it off and disposed of it. He cut Mike’s bonds and massaged his wrists and ankles, got a cloth to clean him off, and some water for both of them. As Harvey moved in and out of the room, Mike drifted in a happy haze, relishing the feeling of being taken care of. Finally, Harvey climbed back into bed with him and wrapped him up in his arms.

Mike rested his head on Harvey’s shoulder. “You okay?” Mike managed to get out.

Harvey kissed his forehead. “Better than okay. It’s been a while since I’ve bottomed – ”

“If you can call it that,” said Mike with a laugh in his voice.

“Regardless, we may have to make that a regular thing. Would you like that?”

“Yeah.” Mike could feel himself slipping into sleep, but added, “Anytime. Anywhere.”

“Done.”

Harvey sounded so smug and amused that Mike wondered what he had just agreed to. He didn’t wonder for long though, as sleep found him and took him.

 

******

 

“I think you should give up your apartment and move in here.”

It was Sunday morning. Mike had sucked Harvey off, been spanked, and fixed breakfast. They sat together now at the breakfast bar, finishing their coffee.

Harvey’s suggestion took him by surprise. He held a lightning fast debate with himself, ignored or discarded all the reasons this move might be a bad idea, and nodded. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay? No arguments or rationalizations?”

Mike shrugged. “Were you expecting any?”

Harvey gave him a funny look, but dropped it. A few minutes later, he asked, “Have you given any more thought to law school?”

“No, not really.”

“You should. It’s your future we’re talking about. Don’t you think that’s important enough to merit some serious consideration?”

Mike couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You brought it up less than a day ago. Plus you told me to take some time and think about it. What’s the rush all of a sudden?”

Harvey gave a reluctant smile. “I don’t know.” He stood suddenly and carried his plate to the sink. “How does one even do this?”

“This?” Mike gathered up the rest of the dirty dishes and pushed Harvey out of the way so he could wash up.

“This….” Harvey gestured between himself and Mike. “I’ve never actually done this before.”

“This what?” Mike knew exactly what he meant, but couldn’t resist tormenting him a little.

“You know….This thing between us.”

“Starts with an ‘R’….” Mike prompted. He waited, but Harvey only stared blankly back at him. “Relationship, Harvey. Say it with me. Relationship.” He over-enunciated each syllable.

“Better not get too sassy with me, boy.”

Mike sighed and dried his hands with a paper towel. “I’m hardly an expert either, you know. Why overthink it? Just keep on doing what you’ve been doing.”

“As in….?”

“As in bossing me around whenever you get the chance, and beating my ass on a regular basis.”

Harvey leaned against the counter, considering Mike. “How far do you want to go with this?”

Mike knew exactly how far he wanted to go, but wasn’t sure Harvey would agree to it. “You once told me you weren’t interested in a Master/slave arrangement.”

“Yes. And….”

Mike resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “And do you still feel that way?”

Harvey stared back at him, not saying anything for long minutes, until Mike began to grow uncomfortable.

“It’s okay, Sir. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I love what we already have. It’s enough and any –”

“Maybe,” said Harvey, interrupting him. “Maybe we could try it. But we should ease into things.”

“Sure, because that’s how you and I always do things.” Mike immediately regretted the sarcastic response.

“Hm. You know what I think? I think rules are fine for other people. You and I though, we can make our own rules as we go along.” He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “Let me rephrase that. _I_ get to make the rules as we go along. And _you_ get to follow them. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good to me. Sounds great, actually.”

 

******

 

“You know,” said Mike later that day as he lay on the couch with his head on Harvey’s leg, the credits to _Equilibrium_ playing on the television, “it occurs to me that we kind of got off track a little with the twelve steps.”

“I guess maybe we did. Where were we at?”

“Step six.”

Harvey’s fingers lightly massaged Mike’s scalp. “Remind me.”

“That’s the one where my higher power helps me get rid of all my character defects.”

“What defects?”

“Ha ha. You know….All that stuff I wrote in my journal? Such as the lying, and drugs, and general sluttiness.”

“Oh right. That. Well, first of all, you should keep the sluttiness. That I like. As long as you confine it to me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“As for the other stuff…wasn’t there something in the steps about humbly asking me for help?”

“Correct. That would be step seven.”

“So? Go on. Step seven me.”

Mike’s lips twitched at that, but he raised his head and slid off the couch, kneeling in front of Harvey in perfect form. “Sir…” He breathed in and out a few times, composing himself, getting into the proper headspace. Harvey remained silent, as if understanding what Mike needed.

“Please, Sir,” he finally began, looking up to meet Harvey’s calm and steady gaze. “I’m, uh, ready to be a better person. So…I’m humbly begging you to please tell me what to do. Show me how. Correct me when I stumble, and stop me from slipping back into bad habits. Protect me from myself. I’m putting myself in your hands. I…I love you, and I trust you to be there for me when things get too dark to handle on my own.” He stopped to swallow past the emotion that had swelled up inside of him. “In return, I promise to serve you, and follow your guidance, and honor you in all ways.” He paused, watching Harvey anxiously. “Was that okay?”

Harvey rested a hand on Mike’s head and said, voice husky, “That was perfect. Thank you. And…yes. I promise to do my best to live up to all of that.” His other hand came to rest on Mike’s shoulder. “I love you too.” His gaze flicked away, and back again, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “That was a little easier this time.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mike’s temple before helping Mike to his feet. “Okay. Let’s get ready for bed. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. In addition to our regular work, you’ll be filling out college applications, and I’ll be figuring out how to get you into law school.”

Mike’s eyes had gone wide. “Wait. I thought we just said I should take some time – ”

Harvey smiled. “What was all that about following my guidance? Were you serious about that?”

Mike stared at Harvey and realized something. He’d spent so much time on his knees around the man that sometimes he forgot their eyes were actually on the same level. “Yes, Sir,” he said earnestly. “I meant every word.”

“So you’re not backing out of your promise?”

Mike put a hand on either side of Harvey’s face, leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. “No, I’m not. Not now. Not ever.”

 

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there ya have it. One long ass story comes to a close. Thank you all SO much for your support and comments and analyses and complaints and critiques and kudos. Y'all are just so nice and generous, and funny and all that good stuff. 
> 
> Next up, I'll be finishing "Serenity in Surrender," the companion story to this one. After that, I'm planning two long things. The first is the 19th century AU I mentioned a while back. And the other....well, I'll let that one be a surprise. I also plan to write some shorter things, many of which I'll just post to tumblr (if I can keep them short enough...hahaha), so check me out there if you feel like it. Same name...jonibeloni.
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking around and reading this thing!


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